


I Want to Taste the Way that You Bleed

by Telesilla



Series: Baseball's In Your Blood [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 2010 Baseball Season, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Baseball, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Fear Play, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Sex, San Francisco Giants, Vampire Sex, informal dom/sub, mild consent play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy in the doorway is Tim Lincecum--the owner of the Giants--and, for all that he looks like a twenty year old hipster, he's actually one hundred fifty years old.</p><p>And he's looking right at Buster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot more about this in the (copious) notes at the end, but yes, Clayton Kershaw is the Giants' ace in this fic. Because...reasons.

June 5, 2008 -- MLB Draft Day

The Seminoles should be practicing or studying, but of course they're not. They're in the clubhouse gathered around Buster's MacBook watching the Draft on mlb.com. Everyone in the room knows Buster's a top prospect and there's been more discussion about the whole thing than Buster feels comfortable with. There are a couple other guys on the team who might get drafted in the later rounds, but mostly everyone else is living vicariously through him.

It's always been that way--in one way or another, Buster's always been different than everyone around him.

He's a little surprised when the Rays take Tim Beckham. Proximity isn't the only reason Tampa's scouts have been hanging around and he'd kind of expected to get the call from them.

"Cheap fuckers," someone says and Buster feels his face go hot. It's one thing for everyone to be all involved in this process, but the whole money thing is something he really doesn't want to get into. Still, it's true. The Rays are too cheap to come up with the money Buster's agent--oh right, his _adviser_ \--thinks they can get.

The Pirates are set for catching for a while so they take Alvarez. Like Tampa, Kansas City is cheap--they go with Hosmer.

"Pitching," he says when the Commissioner says that Baltimore's on the clock. "The Orioles want pitching." He's right; Baltimore takes Matusz from San Diego State.

So really, it's not a surprise at all when Selig says, "With the fifth selection in the first round of the 2008 first year player draft, the San Francisco Giants select Gerald D. Posey...."

Instead of cheering like they would have if any other team had picked Buster, everyone in the room is silent for a long moment. Finally someone says, "Dude...." Somehow that breaks the ice; there's a little bit of nervous laughter and then the guys are cheering and pounding Buster on the back.

When Buster's phone rings, he's already half out of his chair on his way to take the call in the tunnel. It's totally surreal, even though this is the moment he's waited for almost his whole life. He must say all the right things, because he gets through the call without anything weird happening. He knows there's someone from the local TV station who will get him on camera so the guys from MLB Network can ask him a bunch of stupid questions, but before that happens, his phone rings again.

"I said yes," he tells his dad.

"You're that sure about it?"

"Yeah," Buster says. There's a lot of stuff in his life he's not sure about, but this? This is the one thing he knows he wants and if he has to be a Giant to get it, then he'll go to San Francisco. "I'm sure."

* * *

May 29, 2010 - July 2, 2010

When Buster suits up for his first major league game of 2010, he still hasn't met the team's owner. All his front office dealings, way back to his signing, have been with Brian Sabean and Larry Baer. And honestly? Buster's not sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

Rookie or not, he's not nervous when he takes the field at the beginning of the game even though it's a much more important game than his first major league game--a meaningless game last September. And anyway, Buster doesn't do nervous. Even now, he's as steady as he was before the final game of the College World Series.

And then, as they finish throwing the ball around and Jonathan Sanchez sets up to throw the first pitch, Buster feels something. Maybe it's just the scrutiny of the fans--he's right there at first in front of a pretty big Saturday night crowd--but he's aware of being watched. He doesn't want to look around like he's anxious or something, so he mentally shrugs and turns his attention back to the game.

The feeling increases when he comes up in the bottom of the first, but of course he's being watched. They've already scored a run and Freddy Sanchez is at second but there are two out, so it'll take a hit to score. Buster gets that hit and so what if it's just a soft little line drive? It's a hit and it's his first major league RBI and he can't help grinning as he watches Ishikawa toss what looks like the RBI ball up into the crowd behind the dugout.

Buster has a great game, but so do a lot of other players and Buster keeps his head down once they reach the clubhouse. No one knows what to make of him but the way the media's playing it up, he's the Second Coming and that's gotta piss people off. Maybe, he thinks as says suitably modest things to the beat writers, that's what he felt--the collective stare of a wary team.

And then the room goes silent and Buster knows what he felt earlier wasn't the crowd or the team.

The man standing in the clubhouse doorway is slim and short. He's got long hair and is wearing jeans and a gray hoodie with the Giants logo on it and you wouldn't look at him twice if you passed him on the street. Only you would, because this is San Francisco and the guy in the doorway is Tim Lincecum--the owner of the Giants--and, for all that he looks like a twenty year old hipster, he's actually one hundred fifty years old.

And he's looking right at Buster.

Buster stares back, unable to look away. He tries to, tries to glance at his locker, at the floor, at the reporters, but he just can't. All he can do is stand there, frozen in place until Lincecum smiles a little and looks away.

Buster blinks and finally looks down at his locker. When he raises his head again, the reporters are backing away; it's probably the only good thing to come of that...encounter? Moment? He's still puzzled and freaked out by the whole thing and he almost jumps as a hand lands on his shoulder. To his surprise, he turns and sees Molina standing behind him, a faint smile on his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Buster says. And then, because Molina looks like he actually cares, Buster shakes his head. "Not really. Does he do that to everyone?"

"Oh yeah, you're not really a Giant until Mr. Lincecum's scared you at least once."

"Thanks," he says to Molina. "Just...thanks."

Molina squeezes his shoulder and then leaves him alone. Once Buster's ready to leave, he finally looks around the clubhouse and it's not tense at all. All of the guys still in the room smile at him and Kershaw calls out, "good game, Posey."

Maybe, Buster thinks as he gets in his truck, this won't be so bad after all.

That night, he wakes up panting and hard, but the only thing he can remember about his dream was that it wasn't about Kristen. Buster sighs. A guy again. He's tried to burn it out of his system, tried to let a series of hasty encounters in sleazy bars convince him that dudes weren't really his thing. Two years after being drafted, he's still putting off marriage and still missing the heavy weight of a cock in his mouth.

He should take a cold shower like he usually does, but instead, he finds himself sinking back into the bed. It's weird, he feels like he's watching someone else as he shoves his boxer briefs down around his thighs. Closing his eyes doesn't really help when he grabs his dick and starts jacking it hard. It's rough and burns a little because he's doing it dry, but that doesn't matter as he thinks about going down on his knees.

It doesn't take long--he was already pretty horny when he woke up. But when he comes, it's not sucking dick he's thinking about. He imagines being on his back with his legs spread and in the fantasy he's terrified because he's never done this but it's also really fucking good and he wants it like he's never wanted anything and....

Just as he comes all over his stomach and chest, Buster sees a pair of hazel eyes pinning him in place.

* * *

When Buster takes the field the next afternoon, he gets the same feeling he had yesterday. This time he's pretty sure that he is being watched. A quick glance to the stands confirms it; Lincecum is sitting with Larry Baer and he's looking right at Buster. Buster can't help scowling a little; how the hell is he supposed to play with a fucking vampire staring at him?

Lincecum smiles like he knows just what Buster's thinking and then turns and starts talking to Baer. Buster gulps in a quick breath and turns his attention to the game.

By the time they break for Buster's first road trip, Buster's starting to get used to Lincecum watching him. It's still weird, but Buster's too busy handling the pressure of the expectations everyone's heaping on him. He's dealt with pressure before; he can deal with it now, even at this level. He's catching bullpen sessions as well as taking batting practice, so he's busy enough not to worry too much.

Molina's helpful, friendly even, as he starts teaching Buster about the various idiosyncrasies of the staff. Buster appreciates it; it can't be easy training up your replacement. The staff's okay with Buster for the most part, but there's a hell of a learning curve. The PCL's a notorious hitter's league and Giants' pitchers are far better than any staff Buster's ever caught.

Well, except for maybe Bum. He's not Kershaw, but he's not Zito either and Buster can't help wishing they'd call him up already. He should have left Scottsdale with the team at the beginning of the season, but there'd been some conditioning issues and, Buster suspects, the money thing came into it too. He himself would have come up sooner, but the Giants clearly want to delay his free agency as long as they can. Buster should be annoyed, but baseball is business and he's known that ever since his agent sat him and his parents down and started talking signing bonuses.

Still, Buster really wishes he had a friend to hang out with; he misses Bum more than he expected to.

* * *

Buster finally catches his first full game in Cincinnati on June 4. He has a good game, going 2-3. Even getting hit by a pitch doesn't ruin it for him; catching Zito isn't easy and Wilson's tricky, but Buster calls a winning game and that's good enough for him. Lincecum is, of course, in the stands watching Buster, but Buster finds it easier to ignore him when he's in the squat.

After Cincinnati, they come home and play the A's. It feels like a playoff series--the park sells out for each game and it's loud. The whole team gets fired up and they sweep the series. Then they take a series against the Orioles and suddenly they're in third place in the NL West--but only a game back from the Dodgers and a half game behind the Padres. It's fun and Buster realizes that it's not all media bullshit when players say they can't believe they're getting paid to play baseball. He's having the time of his life.

In the middle of June, Wellemeyer goes down with an injury. They try replacing him with Martinez, but that doesn't work; Buster's not at all surprised when, on June 25, Bum shows up in the clubhouse.

They're just in from Houston and the Red Sox are in town, so a quick bro hug in the clubhouse is all Buster and Madison can manage at first. It's a night game though; Rags sends them out to throw a quick bullpen later that afternoon.

They fall into a rhythm right away; it's like the last month never happened, like Buster's been catching Bum every five days with side sessions in between. Halfway through the session he feels Lincecum watching them and Bum's next throw is so wild it goes over Buster's head even as Buster lunges up to get it.

"It's okay," he says later as they're suiting up for the actual game. "You get used to it."

"Yeah?"

"Well, kinda." Buster shrugs. "He's gonna come into the clubhouse and stare at you at some point, probably tomorrow after you pitch. And then...." He trails off, wondering if Lincecum's going to switch his attention to Bum since Bum's the newest player. Buster's not sure he likes the idea and that's one more thing he really doesn't want to think about.

Buster catches Bum the next day in a game that they lose. Bum gives up four runs and after the game, he's kind of furious with himself. Buster's talking him down--which is also familiar from their minor league days--when Lincecum comes into the clubhouse. He stares at Bum for a moment and then turns away to talk to Kershaw.

"See," Buster says. "It's not that bad."

"Sure it's not," Bum mumbles. "Not freaky at all."

"He won't do it again. Well, he'll congratulate you when you have a good game."

"If I ever do."

"Shut the fuck up, you moron. You're up here to stay."

The next day, during the actual game, Lincecum's back to watching Buster again.

* * *

By the end of June, Buster's only caught the two games. He's not sure what's up because carrying three catchers on the roster seems to be a bit much. He really wants to catch, but he's beginning to think he'll be at first for the rest of the year. And honestly, he can't complain--even to himself--since he knocked the everyday first baseman into left field.

Still, Buster spends hours after games studying film, not of opposing hitters, but of Giants pitchers. He knows Bum already; the main thing you need to know about him is how to talk him down once a strike zone or a poor defensive play behind him pisses him off. Zito's tricky and a little wild at times and he disdains game plans, which drives Buster nuts. Cain is smooth and easy; every time Cain throws to him during a side session, Buster learns a little more about both pitching and catching. Sanchez is best left to Whiteside although Buster's sure he could do a decent job of catching him. Kershaw is just plain brilliant; Buster can't wait to catch him in a real game.

Buster's hitting well too, even though he quickly learns what "getting AT&T'd" means. And maybe he's not getting the homers he used to down in Fresno, but at the end of the month his batting average is .259 and climbing as he gets used to facing big league pitching.

All in all, June's a pretty good month.

Except for the part where he keeps dreaming about dudes fucking him.

And then, at the end of the month, right before they get on a plane for Colorado, Bochy pulls Buster into his office. "Molina's been traded," he says and wow, he doesn't sound happy about it at all. "Whitey's still catching Johnny, but you'll be going out there for everyone else."

"Yes, sir," Buster says. He wants to say something about doing his best, but no. He's supposed to do that as a matter of course.

"Keep this to yourself," Bochy adds and Buster nods. He waits for a moment, but all Bochy does is jerk his head at the door.

What the hell, Buster thinks as he heads toward the locker room.

A little later, as the team is boarding the bus to head to the airport, Buster realizes why Bochy told him to keep quiet. Molina's chatting with Cain and either he's one hell of an actor or he doesn't know he's been traded. It's a shitty way to treat a player and Buster's a little surprised. So far, he's liked the Giants organization.

Well except for the way the manager doesn't seem to like him and the owner keeps staring at him.

Lincecum doesn't travel with the team on the charter, but there he is in Colorado, watching the game. It's exactly the distraction that Buster doesn't need and he wonders if Bum feels the same way. They lose Bum's start and after the game, Bum shows up at Buster's hotel room door with a six pack.

"Fucking Coors," he says, slumping into an armchair. It's familiar and comfortable; they might not be sharing a crappy hotel room, but beers after a game is just the same. Even the way that Bum somehow managed to get beer in spite of being under-aged hasn't changed. "Fucking altitude. Fucks with my slider. Just like fucking Salt Lake."

"Yeah," Buster says. "Wish we could have gotten a few more runs for you."

"You did your part."

They drink in silence for a while and then Buster surprises himself.

"Does he look at you?"

"Who?"

"Him. Mr. Lincecum."

"Not really." Bum rubs the back of his neck. "Just that one time in the clubhouse after my first game, but after that? No."

"Does it bug you? Him owning the team?"

Bum snorts. "I got two million reasons to like playing for the Giants sitting in a bank back home."

"'I've got,'" Buster says without thinking.

"Fuck you, I'll talk like I wanna talk," Bum says, his accent so thick Buster can hardly understand him. "Seems like he bugs you."

"I shouldn't mind," Buster says. "I mean, you read about them in history classes, and there was that thing in the news a few years ago when that one vampire got arrested, but mostly, I don't think about them, you know?"

"Yeah. And it's not like we see many of them down in our part of the world."

"It's just, he _looks_ at me. A lot."

"Everyone looks at you," Bum says, leaning forward to hand Buster another beer. "You've only been up a month and you're tearing it up and they fucking traded a really popular guy to get you behind the plate. Also, look in a mirror, you moron. Of course people look at you."

Buster can feel his face go hot. "Not like I'm...oh fuck."

"Like?"

"Like I'm lunch."

And now he really does feel stupid because he should have figured it out weeks ago. Maybe he had. His face goes from hot to flaming as he thinks about the dreams.

"You think that's it?"

"I dunno. Maybe not. It could be just my imagination, just like when I think other guys are...."

Well, fuck, that wasn't a good thing to say. Buster picks at his beer label not wanting to even look up at Bum, because he's pretty sure he's already said too much.

"Buster?" Bum's tone of voice--quiet and almost gentle--is enough to make Buster look up at him. "I know. About you, I mean."

"How?" Buster's heart is pounding and he can hardly breathe.

"Woke up and heard you jerking off once...something you said." It's Bum's turn to blush hard. "Wasn't something you can do with girls."

"Oh fuck," Buster says. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Only happened the one time and, hey, I still roomed with you for the rest of the year."

"I've tried not to be...like this."

"Well that's fucking stupid." Bum sounds almost indignant. "I mean if you're born that way, you're born that way. Ain't nothing wrong with it."

"Yeah well, tell that to everyone else in the locker room and the press and the fans and the folks back home," Buster snaps. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Sorry. And...thanks. I mean it, it helps."

"Do you really think he's interested in you?"

"I don't know," Buster says. "I know he's staring at me, but I have no idea why."

"Are you," Bum hesitates. "Do you want...."

"No!" Buster scowls at him.

"Sorry," Bum says. He pauses for a long moment. "So, how do you think my curve's coming along?"

After Bum leaves, Buster looks at the empty beer bottles on the table and thinks about Bum's question. He's been pretending not to know who he was dreaming about, but now he can't. Dreaming is one thing, though, and just because he dreams of getting fucked doesn't mean he wants it.

He's never been into vampires--never read or watched any vampire porn, never really followed any of the vampire singers or actors. He knows getting bitten is supposed to be incredibly hot, but everyone knows that. He knows that there are places you can go if you want to hook up with a vampire, but when Buster goes into dark bars, it's not vampires he's looking for.

He's also not looking to get fucked. It's stupid in a way, because, if he's being honest with himself, he loves sucking cock and that's pretty gay. But guys have wanted to fuck him and he's always said no, always offered to go down on his knees instead. There's a line in his head and he won't cross it. Maybe it's that, if he doesn't let anyone fuck him, it means he's bi, not gay. Maybe it means he can settle down, marry Kristen and gives his mom the pretty blond grandkids she wants.

Buster flops back onto the bed and lies there, looking at the ceiling. He's not much of a drinker and the three beers he drank with Bum--who can drink anyone under the table and never gets hungover, the bastard--are making his head buzz. He runs a hand down his t-shirt and gasps a little when his thumb brushes over one nipple. He reaches his waistband and presses his hand against his fly. He's only partially hard and normally, he'd either take a cold shower or just get rid of his pants and go for it, hard and fast while trying not to think.

Tonight...tonight, he's half drunk, completely confused and desperately horny.

Running a hand over his chest again, Buster pauses and rubs his nipple through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It's not something he does, although his nipples are sensitive--too sensitive at times--but it feels good. Without really thinking about it, he brings his hand up to touch his neck. He freezes for a moment, his fingertips resting against his pulse point. What would it be like, he wonders.

His jeans are feeling a little snug in front and he pauses to pull them down. With a mental shrug, he strips completely, because why not? It's kind of weird really--the only time he jerks off while naked is when he's in the shower and right now he can't quite figure out why.

Going up on his elbows, Buster looks at himself. He's pale and he's fit enough, he supposes. He doesn't really think his chest and abs are all that much though--after all, he's seen Schierholtz naked and Schierholtz is fucking ripped.

Buster's always thought his legs are too hairy and he hates hates hates his fucking beard, but he has to admit that he likes the line of hair that runs down his stomach. Running his fingers down it makes him wonder what it would feel like if someone else touched him there.

One of the things you learn early on in sports is to keep your eyes to your damn self. Everyone does, except they don't, really. Locker rooms are full of dudes looking at each other--making comparisons--with these casual, I'm just looking around, sideways glances. As long as you don't stare, or even worse, say something, you're good. So over the years, Buster's seen a lot of dicks. You never know what a guy's gonna look like hard, but Buster's seen more than a few hardons too. He knows--okay fine, because he measured it once--that he's a little bigger than average, but other than that, he's never thought much about what his dick looks like. Not bad, he thinks, looking at it. When he's hard, it curves up against his lower stomach and really, it's fairly attractive, as dicks go.

Add in a pair of nice enough legs with thighs so big they make it hard to buy jeans and an ass that's all muscle and the sum is....

"I'd do me," he says aloud into the empty room. "I'd totally fuck me."

He puts his feet on the bed, knees in the air and thinks about what it would be like if he'd ever let any of the guys who wanted to fuck him actually do it. Before he can think about it, he rolls over and grabs the jar of Vaseline that's sitting next to his newest glove on his nightstand.

His finger feels cold and a little slimy when he reaches down and slides it below his balls. For a moment he goes completely still, because what the hell is he thinking? What the hell is he doing? He can't do this.

But then his finger slides a little lower and he's touching his hole and it should be gross but really? It's...wow. Buster's dick jerks a little and he can feel the head of it, slick against his lower belly. Buster closes his eyes tightly and presses his finger in a little.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough. It's good and it gets better when he pushes in further.

Buster's not quite sure how it happens but before he knows it, he's got two fingers up his ass and he's fucking himself as hard as he can in this position. His dick is leaking pre-come--he's sticky with it--and he can feel sweat springing up on his lower back and the back of his neck.

He wants to come, wants it so much, but he also wants to do this all night. He pulls his fingers out long enough to get more Vaseline and then he's shoving three of them in and it burns as he stretches open and God, what the fuck is wrong with him? He twists his fingers and then his other hand isn't on his dick, which aches, he's so hard. Instead, he's got it up at his neck again, fingers digging hard into his pulse point and he wants...he wants....

"Do it...oh God...please do it!"

It happens like that; he goes tight around his fingers and comes in hard pulses all over his chest and stomach. Behind his tightly closed eyes, he sees Lincecum's eyes; it feels like Lincecum can see everything, can see Buster spread out on the bed like this, head tilted back, neck arched so his throat is offered up.

Buster stares into those eyes until everything he's dizzy and panting and then there's nothing but black behind his eyelids.

* * *

The next afternoon Buster can't look at anyone as he suits up in the visiting clubhouse. He feels like he's got "I jerked off so hard thinking about Mr. Lincecum biting me that I passed out" written all over his face.

"Jesus, Posey," Bum says. "Hungover after three beers? You're such a fucking light weight." He says it quietly enough that no one can hear him, which, well thank God for that. The last thing vets like Huff need to know is that the rook can't hold his liquor.

"Fuck you," he says and grabs his shin guards.

He's catching Kershaw that evening and it's one of the ace's rare bad starts. Everyone, even Clayton Kershaw, has them, but Buster can't help feeling responsible and even a little guilty because it's the first time he's caught Kershaw. It's stupid really, Kershaw might have been throwing what Buster called, but half the time he wasn't able to throw them where Buster set up.

After the game, as Buster sits glumly on the dugout bench watching the Rockies shake each other's hands, Kershaw grips his shoulder. "Not your fault; I didn't have it." It's a nice thing to say and he sounds sincere--almost apologetic really.

"Next time," Buster says without thinking. It's the kind of thing he'd say to one of his pitchers down in Fresno, but it seems to work here just as well. Kershaw nods at him and heads into the clubhouse.

Buster's about to follow him when he gets that feeling again--like someone's watching him. When he turns around, he catches a glimpse of Lincecum, standing near the dugout railing with the kids who want autographs. Buster blinks, because what the hell? He hadn't felt Lincecum watching him during the game and had thought that maybe Lincecum wasn't even here today. When he looks again, Lincecum's gone again and Buster's not sure he was ever really there.


	2. Chapter 2

July 6, 2010 -- July 11, 2010

Four days later in Milwaukee, Buster has the best game of his life. Bum's brilliant; he goes eight shutout innings and they're so tuned in to each other that Bum doesn't shake Buster off once.

Buster's day in front of the plate is even better. He goes 4-4 with two home runs, one of them a grand slam. A grand fucking slam, he thinks as he tries to run the bases like it's no big deal.

He's aware of Lincecum watching him, just like he has been for the whole roadie. Buster hasn't jerked off again--or at least not the way he did that one night in Denver--but he had one of his Lincecum dreams the night before. And yet....

This time, Lincecum's staring somehow helps Buster focus, or at least he thinks it does. When he's batting, his world is narrowing down to the ball, his bat and Lincecum's sharp gaze on his back.

The clubhouse is rowdy after the game; Buster listens as Bum takes all the praise and excitement as humbly in front of the press as he can, while Buster's doing exactly the same thing. They both stick to the script with the press, but Buster's going to need to talk to Bum about mumbling because he's asked to repeat himself more than once. And maybe something about his grammar too, but that's just to fuck with him.

There's no way for Buster to avoid the obligatory loud trip to the bar and he doesn't really want to. Just before they leave the clubhouse, Lincecum stands in the doorway, waits until everyone falls silent and then says, "Well done, boys." He looks at Bum and then locks eyes with Buster for a long moment before leaving abruptly.

After that, Buster could really use a drink.

What he gets are several drinks and they aren't beers because Bum--that asshole--suggests bourbon and, given the circumstances, Buster feels like he has to match him drink for drink.

"'m gonna fucking kill you," he mutters to Bum as Bum and Whiteside pull him into their cab. "Gonna throw up on you and then fucking kill you."

"Wait 'til we get back to the hotel," Whiteside says. "Then you can barf on him all you like."

"Won't barf on you, Whitey," Buster says and then giggles even though he knows he's not being all that funny. "Not on another catcher. This fucker though...."

The hotel is used to ballplayers staggering in half drunk and Bum does a good job of getting Buster through the lobby and then into the elevator without Buster saying the wrong thing or falling over. Buster's hanging on him a little and he kind of wants to offer to suck Bum's dick, which he knows would be a really bad idea. But Bum's his best friend and he doesn't care that Buster's a fag and it's not like Buster hasn't blown supposedly straight guys before.

As Bum steers him out of the elevator, as Buster opens his mouth to suggest it, they come to a complete stop. Buster's not sure why and he almost falls over. When Bum steadies him and he looks up, Lincecum is right in front of him.

It's like Bum isn't even there. Buster leans toward Lincecum, his knees weak. He wants to go down, right here in the hallway. He wants to beg for it, wants to give Lincecum whatever Lincecum wants--his mouth, his ass, his throat, his blood.

Lincecum takes a half step toward him and God, this is it, this is going to happen.

And then Lincecum sighs and turns away a little. "Do you need help getting him to his room?" he says to Bum.

"No sir," Bum says. "I, um, he's usually not like this. I mean he's not a heavy drinker."

"Yes," Lincecum says with a smile. "I can see that." He reaches out and pats Bum's arm. "Make sure you make him drink some water and take a few aspirins or whatever it is people take for headaches these days."

"Yes sir," Bum says again.

"Hey," Buster says, because what the hell? Lincecum's touching Bum and not him? It's not fair.

"Shut up," Bum snaps and all but drags Buster past Lincecum and toward his room. Buster half turns to look at Lincecum, but Lincecum just shakes his head and turns away.

"Why'd you pull me away?" Buster says once Bum's got him in his room.

"Because if I didn't, one of you was going to lose control and lemme tell you, Posey, I don't want to be involved."

"Oh," Buster says with a sigh. Maybe Bum's right. "You're such a good friend," he says. "Even though you wouldn't let me...hey, if you want, I'll suck your...."

"Oh no, no, no. Don't you say that." He points to the bed. "Shut up and get in bed."

Before Buster can ask Bum if he's sure, Bum's headed to the bathroom.

Buster manages, just barely, to get his shoes off, but gives up on his belt and jeans and just gets into bed. He leans his head back against his pillow and tries to sort out how he's feeling. Before he can get very far, Bum comes back from the bathroom, a bottle of water in his hand.

"Take these," he says, handing Buster the bottle and several pills.

He takes them and chugs down half the water. "I'm sorry I asked...." he says. "That was really fucking stupid of me."

"Yeah it was. Flattering, though." Bum's rummaging in the mini fridge and he comes back with another bottle of water. "Finish that and drink this one too."

"I would, though," Buster says, after finishing off the first bottle of water. "Even if I weren't drunk."

"Even if I wanted you to, which I don't, I'm not the one you want."

Buster starts in on the cold bottle; it's perfect and although he knows he's not any more sober, his head feels a little clearer. "I don't want to want him."

Bum sits down on the foot of the bed. "Is he...you said he's staring at you. He's not pushing you or messing with your head, is he? Because they can't do that. I mean they can, but if you don't want it, you can go to the consulate or embassy or whatever and file a complaint with the Vampire Council."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I remembered hearing something about it and I looked it up."

"He's not. I kinda wish I could say he was, but it's me." Buster turns his head away.

Bum's silent for a long moment. "It's okay," he finally says.

"No," Buster says. "It's not. Bad enough that I'm a fag...."

"Buster?"

"Huh?"

"Shut the hell up and drink your water."

Before Bum leaves, he puts another bottle of water on the nightstand and stands looking down at Buster. "Get some sleep," he says before heading toward the door.

As Bum turns out the light, Buster says, "Bum? I meant it. You're a good friend."

"Yeah," Bum says with a laugh. "I am." And then he's gone.

Buster should sleep, but he kind of wants to jerk off again the way he did the other night. No, that's not true. What he wants is something he can't have and jerking off will probably just make it worse. He stares up into the dark above his bed and eventually drifts off.

When he wakes again, the clock says it's four in the morning. Buster's head hurts a little, and he's still kind of drunk. He makes his way into the bathroom and, after pissing for what feels like forever, stares at himself in the mirror. He feels like he should look different, but no, nothing's changed, at least not on the outside. Annoyed with himself, he turns away from his reflection and heads back toward bed.

His gear bag's in the corner and he stops and stares at it a long time. It's different if he actually digs in it to get the Vaseline out; it makes it hard to pretend that he just happened to have it on hand. On the other hand, he can't help thinking of that moment in the hall, how it felt for that brief moment when Lincecum was looking at him and Buster knew Lincecum wanted him. He remembers how he wanted to do whatever Lincecum wanted--right there in the hall, right in front of Bum.

It should be scary, but right now, Buster's pretty sure that it's the hottest thing that's ever happened to him.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out the Vaseline.

* * *

The next day, Bochy takes a long look at Buster. "Next time you show up looking like this," he says. "I'll run you 'til you puke."

"Yes, sir," Buster says. "Sorry, sir."

In a way, Bochy's threat makes Buster feel better about his relationship with the skipper. He's seen Bochy run hungover guys--veterans--before. At least Bochy's treating him like everyone else.

By the time the game starts, Buster's hangover is mostly gone. Bum and some of the other guys gave him some shit about how drunk he got the night before, but again, it just means he's becoming one of the guys. He's feeling less and less like a raw rookie with each day that passes; it's a good feeling and totally worth a hangover.

Buster has another good game; he goes 2-4 and Kershaw's totally awesome, every inch the ace Buster's been dying to catch. And still, something's a little off. Buster finally figures out it in the sixth--Lincecum isn't looking at him anymore. He's at the game, sitting with Larry Baer as usual, but he doesn't look at Buster at all, even when Buster stares at him.

What the fuck?

After the next day's game--another good one for Buster and the team--they're off to DC for the last series before the All Star Break. It's fairly early when they get in and once he's settled his stuff in his room, Buster takes a deep breath and heads to Bum's room. He's been avoiding Bum as much as he can and, even now, he almost chickens out. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

"Hey," Bum says. "C'mon on in."

"Thanks. If you offer me so much as a beer, I'll punch you."

"Yeah well," Bum says with a grin. "If you offer me a blowjob...."

"God, I'm so sorry." Buster sits down in an armchair and buries his face in his hands. "If it helps, I don't perv on straight friends."

"You mean you haven't been pining for me for a couple years now?" Bum pulls a Coke out of the mini-fridge and offers it to Buster.

"Thanks. I don't know what's more insulting," Buster says. "Saying yes or no."

Bum laughs, takes a long drink of his own Coke and then belches loudly. "You should pine after me. I'm a classy motherfucker."

"Asshole," Buster says, laughing along with Bum. They're okay, he thinks. It's all okay.

"You want to go grab some food?" he asks.

"I've never been here before," Bum says. "You wanna just get room service or eat here in the hotel?"

"Room service is good," Buster says.

Once they order, Bum shakes his head. "Here we are in fucking DC and we're eating in our room."

"Yeah, but I've gotta say, decent room service still feels like a luxury."

They've finished their steaks and Buster's working his way through a piece of cheesecake when he finally gets up the courage to ask a question.

"The other night you said that he can't...."

"Influence you," Bum says. "That's what they call it. It's a really serious crime to them. Violates the Treaty."

"You looked this up?"

"Yeah, after that night in Denver."

"I should have done that. Thanks."

"No big deal. It was kinda interesting. There's a ton of stuff they can't do; one of the sites I looked at said the Treaty actually protects us more than them."

"Huh. In 2008, everyone was saying the Giants were going to try to sign me. So I looked him up, but I didn't pay much attention to anything besides his baseball background."

"You ever wonder how weird it's gotta be? Remembering watching guys play ball with no mitts and no catcher's gear?"

"No salaries for the players, no DH, no World Series, no All Star Game."

"No fixed rules."

"It'd be cool to talk about it with him," Buster says. "Or not. I don't think me being around him is a good idea."

"Yeah. You're not the only guy who's figured it out, you know."

Buster's stomach lurches and for a minute he's afraid he's going to lose his dinner. "People know?"

"No, sorry, not about you. People seen him watching you. No one's sure if you haven't noticed or if you have and are doing a good job of ignoring it."

"Oh." Buster draws an unsteady breath. "You think Boch noticed? Because sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't like me much."

"Nah, that's just because he prefers veteran position players."

"Really? How do you know more about it than I do? You haven't been up all that long."

"Because pitchers gossip. You know that. And anyway, Boch is coming around. You've been hitting too well and the staff likes you."

Buster can feel his cheeks heating up. "Well shit," he says. "I'm just...."

"If you say you're just doing your job," Bum says. "I'll beat the crap out of you."

"Like you could."

* * *

The next morning, before they need to be at the stadium, Buster takes a walk. They're not staying all that close to anything historic, but it's still nice to get out in the morning, before it gets hot and sticky. He's trying not to think of Lincecum or vampires, because it seems like it's not something he has to worry about anymore.

But...

But he does have something to worry about. He's going home over the break and this time, he's got to break it off with Kristen. It's just not fair to keep stringing her along when he knows he can't be a real husband to her. He knows that some gay guys marry anyway, but Buster still cares about her too much to do that. He can't lie to her like that.

The problem, above and beyond hurting a friend, is that if he breaks it off, he's got to stop pretending.

I'm gay, he thinks. I like dudes...I like sucking cock...I think I want someone to fuck me.

He can feel it; his face is beet red and his heart rate's way up. How is he going to do this? He's got a whole career ahead of him as a major leaguer; he can't be gay.

Then again, he remembers how it felt the other night. Never mind fantasizing about a vampire; he _liked_ having his fingers up his ass. He'd like to try it when he's not drunk. Not with another dude, though; at least not yet. There's no way he's ready for that.

Unless, he thinks, it's Lincecum. Maybe it would be different if he were sober, maybe he wouldn't be so eager to just give Lincecum whatever he wanted. Of course, given that what happened in Milwaukee seems to have made Lincecum back off, he'll probably never know.

With a sigh, he pulls out his phone and checks the time. He should head back; the bus will be heading for the park soon. As he walks, he wonders if anyone else on the team is gay. He knows there are gay guys in the show; there must be just based on statistics. There's no way to know who is and who isn't, but maybe someday, he'll find someone other than Bum to talk to.

Playing in DC in July is brutal, even for a kid from Georgia. They take the series and Buster catches each game. By the time he gets back to his room each night after dinner, he's too exhausted to do anything but shower, empty yet another bottle of Powerade and crash. He has another Lincecum dream the second night, but even that doesn't bother him as much as it did at first. 

The third game is a day game and after it, everyone goes their separate ways for the break. Bum's eager to get home to Ali, but as they all pack up in the clubhouse, he says, "call me if you need to." Before Buster can answer, he adds, "but don't be surprised if you get voice mail at first. I'm gonna be kinda busy."

"Horn dog," Buster says. "Don't put your back out."

"Hey, I'm not talking about sex. Well, okay that too, but we'll be packing so she can come back to San Fran with me."

"Careful. Don't call it that around people who actually live there."

"Whatever." Bum rolls his eyes.

* * *

Buster's standing in front of Nationals Park waiting for a cab, when he feels that little shiver on the back of his neck. He's not surprised when Lincecum steps up to stand next to him. In spite of the heat, Lincecum's wearing a long sleeved shirt and a ball cap. Younger vampires, Buster remembers from somewhere, tend to be mildly allergic to the sun. A hundred and fifty years might be a long time to Buster, but among his own kind, Lincecum's barely an adult.

Lincecum's silent and finally Buster can't stand it any more. "I'm sorry about the other night, sir. I don't usually drink like that."

"I know," Lincecum says. "You had good reason to. It was a good game. So was the one the next day. In fact, you had a good series."

Oh God, Buster's _blushing_. "Thank you, sir."

They're both silent for a moment and then Lincecum says. "You've got a real friend in Bumgarner."

"Believe me, sir, I know how lucky I am."

Lincecum chuckles but it doesn't do much for Buster's nerves because he can't help remembering how he felt that night. And now? He's not looking at Lincecum, but he still feels a tug and he knows that if he were facing Lincecum, it'd be worse. He's not sure what to do, because he kind of wants to ask Lincecum a ton of questions. Is he Influencing Buster? Does he want Buster? What does it feel like when....

A cab pulls up and Lincecum turns to Buster. "Are you headed to Dulles or National?"

"National, sir. I'm going home."

"I'm at National as well." Lincecum turns and Buster can't help looking at him. "Would you like to share the cab?"

Buster looks into Lincecum's eyes and swallows hard. "I...um...I don't think that's a good idea right now, sir."

"All right," Lincecum says, stepping forward. He's opening up the car's door when he turns and glances at Buster. "Have a good break, Buster."

"Thank you, Sir." Buster says and then, for some reason, he adds. "You too."

A few minutes later, in his own cab, Buster feels his pulse finally slow. He doesn't know what to think any more. He said he didn't think Lincecum was deliberately trying to influence him, but what if he's wrong? Is there a list of signs, symptoms? He'll have access to a real computer at home; maybe he can do some research late one night or something.


	3. Chapter 3

July 12, 2010 -- July 29, 2010

 

Home hasn't changed. It's Leesburg, it'll never change. His family's always been good at keeping him grounded; he gets praise for the season he had but it's not excessive. No one asks him about Lincecum, which is just fine with Buster.

Buster's never been one to put things off, so the next morning he talks to Kristen.

It's awful. She gets justifiably angry and he apologizes over and over because it really is all his fault. Once they've both said everything at least three times, they awkwardly talk about staying friends, which Buster highly doubts will happen. To his surprise, she says she'll just tell people things didn't work out instead of telling all of Leesburg he's queer. He's grateful and says so and then she starts crying and he starts crying and he's pretty sure they're both relieved when they head in different directions.

When he gets home, he has to lie and say something vague about it not working out and being all his fault, because he simply can't face coming out to his family right now. His mother starts to cry and Sam tells him he's an asshole. It gets worse when his dad offers him a drink while they watch the Home Run Derby. The first smell of bourbon brings that night in Milwaukee back and he has to shake his head and ask for a Coke.

Ortiz wins the Derby and really, Buster couldn't care less. His dad says something about how Buster might be in the Derby one day and Sam snidely says that anyone who plays at AT&T won't have the chops to get invited. Buster, who already loves AT&T, grits his teeth and manages to avoid an argument.

The NL wins the actual All Star game, but neither Kershaw nor Wilson pitch, so again, Buster doesn't really care. He can't think ahead to the possibility that home field advantage in the World Series might mean something to the Giants; there are too many games to get through.

He doesn't even bother to try to do any research on vampires; he just doesn't want to deal with it. Right before he leaves, he and his mom have an awkward heart to heart about Kristen that leaves him feeling like even more of an asshole and all in all, he's never been so grateful to get on a plane.

* * *

His rent by the month apartment in San Francisco seems horribly sterile and he wonders if it's time to find something nicer. It's not like he'll need his signing bonus to raise a family on, so why not spend a little of it? He could buy a brand new truck too and his Macbook is kinda old. Maybe he just needs some retail therapy.

"Oh Jesus," he mutters. "I might as well start drinking things with umbrellas in them and watching Hugh Grant movies."

Dated or not, his Macbook can access the internet just fine. There's a lot of crap out there about Vampires and Influence, so he finally just goes right to the source.

What he finds at the Vampire Council's website is kind of confusing at first.

Does Buster find himself doing things he would not normally do or behaving in an uncharacteristic way? Do his friends, family and colleagues notice anything different about him? Could he turn down any request the vampire might have for him? Can he maintain any kind of significant distance from the vampire or does separation cause mental or physical distress? Does he constantly find himself thinking about the vampire? Does he allow the vampire to feed on him when he does not wish to be fed upon or when the loss of blood would damage him in any way?

The last question pulls him up short. If he's being objective, the answer to all of the other questions is no. Oh sure, he never finger fucked himself before, but that was mostly because he's messed up in his head about being gay. There's nothing in there about having the occasional sex dream about the vampire or feeling a little weird when the vampire stares at him.

And of course, he's not letting Lincecum feed off him at all, let alone against his will. He he's pretty sure Lincecum would like to feed off him, but even when Buster was too drunk to think clearly, Lincecum didn't touch him. And since then, it seems like Lincecum's deliberately stepped back. He's certainly stopped staring at Buster.

Finally, how old is the vampire?

"Oh," Buster says as he reads the explanation for that last question. Vampires under 500 years old don't have the ability to Influence people. If a younger vampire has a close physical and emotional relationship with a human and if the vampire feeds off the human on a regular basis, the human might find their judgment slightly impaired during when the vampire's hungry, but not so much that they could be said to be under the vampire's control.

"You could tell people that up front," Buster says to the screen.

He didn't really think he was being Influenced, but it's nice to know for sure.

Lincecum's formal bio page doesn't tell Buster much he didn't already know from Lincecum's wikipedia page. He doesn't recognize the name of Lincecum's Sire and there's no mention of the Head of his Line. Not that that means anything; Buster can name one, maybe two, vampires other than Lincecum off the top of his head.

Lincecum was born in Illinois, orphaned at an early age and then adopted by a member of the Denny party, who eventually founded Seattle. His Sire, James Bolton, turned him in 1855 when Lincecum was twenty-three. Bolton and Lincecum made a lot of money in the logging business and then, shortly after the Earthquake of 1906, Lincecum took his share of the money and headed south to San Francisco. Buster hadn't actually known that Lincecum was the first vampire to settle in the city after the quake killed two vampires and scared the rest away.

The rest of it is a story Buster's heard more than once during his time in the Giants' system. It's the Lincecum Myth, or might as well be. Lincecum had always loved baseball and he'd eventually supported a number of early teams back in his days in Seattle. Once the Giants came San Francisco, he'd followed the team closely and finally, in 1992, he'd purchased the team and kept them in the city. To Giants fans, Lincecum's the guy who saved the franchise and, incidentally, spent a lot of money signing Barry Bonds. To the people of San Francisco, Lincecum's the guy whose new stadium didn't cost the taxpayers a single dime, even in tax breaks.

Buster leans back in his chair and sighs. None of this is telling him anything he needs to know, except for the fact that Lincecum's Sire was male. But he heard once that most vampires are bisexual so that doesn't mean anything. Lincecum's never Sired anyone, but at his age that's not unusual.

Why me, Buster wonders. Lincecum's kinda good looking and from what Buster saw on some of the vampire watch pages, he's got plenty of vampire groupies. Sure, there's no Human Companion listed on his bio page, but a vampire can have pretty much anyone he wants. Why Buster?

All in all, getting the answer to his initial question has raised up another half dozen questions and Buster's not going to get answers on the internet.

Fuck it, Buster thinks. He's spent too much time thinking about this; it's time to do something mindless. As he starts looking at pictures of trucks he wonders if he'll piss his family off more that he already has if he buys a Ford instead of a Chevy.

* * *

The next afternoon, Lincecum shows up for batting practice. It seems to make the newer guys a little nervous, but Cain chats with him; he even says something that makes Lincecum laugh. Buster doesn't say anything to him and all Lincecum does is glance in his direction once. If Bum's right and people are speculating, neither Lincecum nor Buster are giving them anything to work with.

Even though it's cloudy and cool, Buster's surprised when Lincecum strips off his hoodie to reveal a plain black sleeveless t-shirt. He's even more surprised when Lincecum takes a bat from Bochy and steps up to the plate. The rest of the team stops their workout and everyone's attention is focused on Lincecum as Gardner starts tossing him pitches.

He taps a few into the outfield and it's obvious he's not putting anything into it at all. Buster can't help looking at his arms; they're pale and corded with more muscle than Buster expected. Well, Buster thinks, he was a lumberjack back when there weren't any chainsaws.

Lincecum's stance is pretty normal; he clearly knows what he's doing and how to stand in the box. He's still though, very still. Buster finds himself wondering how unnerving it would be to pitch to a hitter than didn't move at all until swinging.

"Okay," Lincecum calls out. "Give me something I can really hit."

The first ball he launches lands in the very top deck, but it's foul. Lincecum laughs and looks at Bam Bam. "Guess I need more time in the cage."

"Or you need to stop swinging at pitches that go that far inside."

Lincecum grins and then turns his attention back to Gardner. The next ball is just barely fair, but it goes out of the park and is probably bouncing around the players' parking lot. The next one clears the Coke bottle and the one after that? The one after that lands smack in the middle of the glove.

As Lincecum slowly works his way from left field to right, Buster hears someone chuckle next to him. "He used to do this more often," Cain says. "He'd come out at least once every homestand and take BP. He said he did it to keep Bonds humble and it kind of sounded like a joke and it kind of didn't. Barry always laughed, though."

Buster watches and realizes something; Lincecum's still not using his full strength. He's hitting balls the same way Buster would if he was going for a soft line drive or trying to hit something into the gap. Still, it's an incredible display and, like everyone else in the park, Buster watches in awe. Finally, after Lincecum's landed a couple into the Cove, he lets a couple pitches go by, then, when he gets one he likes, he totally unloads on it; the effort he's putting into it finally visible.

The ball explodes. There's white leather and yarn all over the infield and the hard rubber center flies off into the avocado tree.

"Holy crap," Buster mutters. He's quiet, but of course Lincecum can hear him. When Lincecum turns to look at him, he's grinning broadly and he looks even younger, maybe twelve or something. It's like they're in a backyard somewhere and Lincecum's smiling because he's having so much fun. Buster can't help grinning back and for once, Lincecum's eyes on him don't make him uncomfortable at all.

The moment stretches out and then Lincecum turns back to Gardner. "Thanks," he says. Then, as he heads back toward the cluster of front office people, he says, "Posey."

Buster turns and before he can think of something to say, Lincecum tosses him the bat. Buster stares down at it, his face red. Maybe Lincecum doesn't know that people are talking about his interest in Buster. Or maybe he doesn't just care. Suddenly, Buster's furious. He's a fucking rookie and having the owner single him out like this is not what he needs, even if people weren't already talking.

He looks down at the bat, frowning. He doesn't know what to do with it. Going back into the dugout and tossing it in the rack with the rest of his bats would probably be insulting, but the idea of using it makes him feel like he's just trying to draw attention to himself. Fortunately he's not up yet, so he just leans on the bat and keeps his eye on the ground.

"It's okay," Cain says after a minute. "Not like you've done anything but be good."

"Thanks," Buster says, glancing over at Cain. "I worry. I mean, it's only been a couple of months."

"And that's why we like you." Cain smiles. "Lots guys would come in, do what you've done and get cocky. I don't know if you can be cocky."

"Once or twice," Buster says. "But I killed all the witnesses."

Cain tilts his head back and laughs.

It's another twenty minutes or so before Buster's group comes up for batting practice. Buster uses Lincecum's bat, but doesn't hit with any power at all. Normally he'd do what everyone else does; put down a few line drives and then play home run derby. Instead, Buster works at finesse stuff--trying to slap balls up the middle or up both lines, trying to hit them where the fielders ain't. In its way, he knows it's as impressive a display as Lincecum's was.

When he's finally done and heads back to the dugout, Cain grins at him. "Because that wasn't cocky at all."

Buster just gives him his best wide-eyed innocent look and Cain laughs again.

When Buster looks around, Lincecum is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The rest of July is simply unbelievable. They win thirteen of their next seventeen games, including a four game series sweep of the D'backs in Arizona. Lincecum is at every game, sometimes he watches Buster, but most of the time, Buster isn't aware of him because something even more amazing is going on.

He's got a hitting streak going. It started before the break, but people first start talking about it when he reaches fifteen days. Buster hadn't really noticed, even though he knew he was getting on base and racking up RBIs at an impressive rate. It seems like every time he turns around, Huff's getting on base ahead of him and then Buster's batting him in.

"It's the Buster Posey RBI diet," Huff jokes one night after a game in which Buster batted him in yet again. "I've dropped ten pounds with all the fucking base running I'm doing."

It's nice to see that Cain was right. Buster's never really craved approval, but now that he's not keeping his eyes down all the time, he realizes that people smile at him and include him in conversations.

"Are people still talking? About Lincecum." he asks Bum one night as they head over to Bum's place. Ali seems to have decided that the way to help Buster get over his broken engagement is to feed him. A lot.

"Some. He's toned it down though, so people figure it was a minor thing--just watching the investment or something. Mostly they talk about your streak." He glances over at Buster. "That freaking you out yet?"

"Not exactly although...fuck it. I'm using that bat."

"Yeah, I thought you were." Bum shrugs, his eyes on the road. "Hey, it's got hits in it, Right?"

"Seems to."

On July 29, Anibal Sanchez puts an end to Buster's hitting streak, getting him to ground out into a double play on what turns out to be Buster's last at bat of the game. He's not lying later when he tells the press he's glad to finally have the attention off him. The best thing about it, he thinks later that night, is the way the fans gave him a standing ovation when he came off the field. 

"At least," Kershaw says. "It wasn't against the Dodgers."

Buster takes Lincecum's bat home that night and put it in the closet with the box of milestone balls--his first major league hit, his first major league RBI and his first major league home run. After, he sits on his sofa, drinking a Coke and aimlessly watching ESPN. He's always known he was good, always accepted it as a fact of life, just like being right handed and having blue eyes. Thing is at this level, a lot of other people are good too. He's never faced anyone pitching a game like Sanchez pitched tonight and there are plenty of pitchers out there who are even better.

It's not a shock to hear his name on Baseball Tonight, but it is a shock when John Kruk says that, when it comes to Rookie of the Year, Buster's got to be in the conversation. He has to admit, if only to himself, that he feels a happy little glow of satisfaction in his chest, but mostly, he's frowning at the screen.

"It's only the end of July," he says when Barry Larkin agrees with Kruk.

That night, he has another Lincecum dream.

This time, Lincecum's got Buster pressed up against the padded wall out in center. It's night and the stadium's dark, but Buster still feels utterly exposed as Lincecum reaches around, unbuckles Buster's belt, unzips his uniform pants and shoves them down around Buster's thighs. Buster's still wearing his full uniform, including his jock, and Lincecum runs his hand over Buster's bare ass. Buster pushes back into the touch, greedy for more as Lincecum starts teasing him.

"You're so good," Lincecum murmurs in his ear. "Such a good player...so good to watch...makes me hungry...."

Buster wakes up with a gasp. He's way too wound up to make a production number of it; reaching down, he jerks off hard and fast.

After, he wonders if maybe the Council page was wrong, wonders if somehow Lincecum is Influencing him. He leans his head against the pillow and sighs. Or maybe it's just that he can't imagine giving it up for someone who isn't so powerful that Buster can't stop him.

It's more psychology than he wants to contemplate at four in the morning with the Dodgers coming in tomorrow. He mops a little with his shorts, rolls over and tries to get back to sleep. Normally he can drop off, no matter what the circumstances, but tonight the best he can do is a kind of vague half-sleep that has him tossing and turning while trying to figure out what the hell is going on between him and Lincecum.

He's tired and a little edgy when he gets to the park the next day. And maybe it's chance, although Buster doubts it, but when he gets out of his truck, Lincecum is getting out of his Tesla. And there's no one else around.

"Posey," Lincecum says with a nod.

"Sir," Buster says. And then he surprises himself and says, "I have a question for you."

"Sure," Lincecum says and he sounds so casual, so modern.

"I...you seem to be paying attention to me," Buster says and then winces because what if he's wrong? "And I'm not the only one who's noticed," he adds more to convince himself than Lincecum.

"You're a good player," Lincecum says. "Everyone likes watching you. Also, that wasn't a question."

"Fine," Buster says, suddenly angry. "Are you just watching me because I'm good, or because you want something from me?"

"If I do," Lincecum says, staring right into Buster's eyes. "I'm not the only one."

"Believe me," Buster says. "I know that. Also, that wasn't an answer."

Lincecum laughs. "Then, yes. And because I can guess your next question, the answer is: because you haven't asked. You have to come to me."

Even as Buster stares at him in shock, Lincecum takes off across the parking lot. He's not even jogging, just walking fast, but he's gone in the blink of an eye.

The question Buster wanted to ask--"Then why haven't you done anything about it?"--feels like it's still lodged in Buster's throat.

He's not sure how he makes it through the game, but he does. He even gets a couple of hits.

"Ali wants to feed you again," Bum says as they leave the clubhouse. 

"Yeah well, Ali hasn't read the scouting report that warns about my big fat ass."

"What? Seriously?"

"Yeah. I think they said something about me having big hips and needing to watch my lower half weight. Sam sent it to me for laughs."

"She's frying chicken."

"Let's go."

It's nice to spend time with Ali and Bum, although Buster can't help thinking that what they have is what his mom wanted for him. Apparently Ali thinks the same thing, because once they settle down at the dinner table, she flat out asks him if he wants her to set him up with someone nice. Buster can't help laughing because, wow, she sure doesn't beat around the bush.

"I don't think Buster needs any help," Bum says.

"Thanks, Ali," Buster says. "But...." He takes a deep breath--Bum's been okay with it and he can only hope he married someone like him. "I don't...I'm gay."

"Well that explains it," she says. When Buster finally looks up she's smiling at him. "You want some more potatoes?"

"Thanks," Buster says, not talking about potatoes. "I mean it...thanks."

"It's okay," Ali says, looking at Bum. "Of course, Madison has this cousin, he's gay and he's really cute."

"You didn't say," Buster says, looking over at Bum.

"No need to," Bum says with a shrug. "It doesn't make a difference, or at least it shouldn't. My Gramma said it shouldn't take a relative being different to turn you into a good person."

"I like your Gramma," Buster says. He thinks of his parents, about how he got in trouble for telling the wrong kind of jokes when he was a kid. Maybe he's not being fair to them. Near as he'd been able to tell, Kristen was more angry about the lying than him being gay. Maybe people in Georgia can be as understanding as people from North Carolina.

"Yeah," he says with a smile at Ali. "I'll have some more potatoes, please."

On the drive home, he tries to think of his parents, or of Ali and Bum and how awesome they are, or even how he thought that guy gassing up at the ARCO was kinda hot.

_You haven't asked. You have to come to me._

After his trip to the Vampire Council website, he knows that the Treaty forbids vampires from forcing themselves on anyone. There's nothing, however, that says they can't ask. But Lincecum won't. Buster should be grateful, it should make him feel safer. Instead, it just stresses him out more. Seems he was right last night--he wants Lincecum to take the decision out of his hands.

Fucking hitting streak, he thinks as he pulls into the parking garage of his building. Before it he might have been able to go to one of the bars he used to go to back when he was in San Jose--the dark bars down on Folsom--and find a couple guys who wanted a simple blowjob, no strings attached. But now, not only have people seen him on TV, the whole team is doing well and the city is paying attention.

If Buster wants to suck some dick, he's gonna have to do it somewhere else.

Or go to Lincecum.

Once Buster reached his apartment, he turns his phone back on. There's one text. "When you're ready" and a phone number. He looks at the message for a long time before adding the number to his contacts. Somehow he knows that's as far as Lincecum will go.

And now, it's up to Buster to decide how far he, himself, will go. Baseball has to come first. He got used to Lincecum watching him; he's got to get used to Lincecum wanting him. He's got to get used to wanting Lincecum.

Thing is, Buster knows that he can get used to it. One of his strengths has always been his ability to concentrate, to compartmentalize. He does it in the middle of the game; the moment he squats down behind the plate, he's not thinking about his hitting. When he's at the plate, he leaves his thoughts about his pitcher's performance behind.

Right now, the Giants are riding a hot streak and that has to be more important than Buster's thing about Lincecum.


	4. Chapter 4

August 1 -- August 25, 2010

It's like Buster tempted the Baseball Gods or something, because once they get into August, the Giants seem to forget how to win. It's horrible--Kershaw is suddenly looking less like a former two time Cy Young winner and more like a fourth or fifth starter. Buster has no idea what it is, but Kershaw's not the only one. Zito and Sanchez suffer and even Bum isn't doing well.

And for all Buster's confidence that he can leave his catcher worries behind when he's batting...well, maybe he tempted the Baseball Gods on that front too. All of a sudden Buster can't hit. It was inevitable and he knows it. He hit above .400 in July and that's just not sustainable. Also the league's seen him a couple of times now; there's plenty of film and pitchers know him. Still, he hates making excuses and in his head, it feels like that's exactly what he's doing. It would be one thing if, like Kershaw, it was just him. But no, none of them can see the ball right now.

Knowing that exactly the same thing is happening to the Padres doesn't really make it any better. Oh sure, they can't lose any ground when San Diego sucks too, but that's not the way you want to do it.

Buster does his best to keep his cool; he's got a good game face and he makes damn sure it's all anyone sees. But God, he sure envies Bum, who can go home to Ali every night. Knowing Ali, he doubts she lets Bum indulge in too much self-pity, but still, it's got to be nice to have someone who will sympathize.

It's a Wednesday evening and they just lost a twelve inning day game to the Reds, in spite of the fact that they got eleven runs. None of those runs involved Buster in any way shape or form--he went zero for six with two strikeouts. Way to hit them where they ain't, he thinks as he trudges out to his truck.

"I'd say 'this too shall pass' but I've learned that hearing that never helps." Lincecum's leaning against Buster's truck, bundled up in his usual hoodie.

Buster takes a deep breath and shrugs a little. "But it will pass, sir. Eventually."

"You're good at that," Lincecum says. "The game face, I mean. Also, stop calling me sir; I keep looking around for my Sire."

Before he can help it, Buster laughs. "I feel the same way when people call me Gerald." He thinks about what Lincecum said. "The game face...what am I supposed to do? Yell into my mitt all the time and slam things around in the dugout?"

He instantly feels bad for singling Bum out, not just because Bum's his friend, but also because Bum had such a bad outing he got pulled before the third inning was over. Bum's anger was aimed at himself.

"Might not hurt," Lincecum says. "What do you do instead?"

"Work out," Buster says. "Go home and watch stupid reality TV. Try to put what happened today behind me." It sounds, he thinks, scripted and a little sad.

"Very commendable," Lincecum says. Buster glances over, but if Lincecum's being sarcastic, it doesn't show on his face. "If you would like to talk...."

"To the owner of my team," Buster says. "About any doubts I might have about my performance."

"All I do is sign the checks," Lincecum says.

"Yes, and someday I want you to sign one that's above league minimum." And wow, that's a fucking stupid thing to say, but Lincecum just laughs.

"I don't set the salaries of my players. Baer and Sabean do that. I wouldn't...." He pauses. "I wouldn't have made my interest obvious otherwise."

Buster doesn't say anything and he can almost imagine the word "interest" hanging between them. "I'm afraid," he begins but then can't go on, because Jesus, he's afraid of so much and when did that happen?

"Most people are, of something. Most vampires too."

"This isn't like being afraid of fire or a car crash."

"No," Lincecum says. "It's not."

There's a pause again. "I would like to talk," Buster says, swallowing hard. "But I don't know where we could go." He doesn't trust himself to invite Lincecum to his place and he's not wild about going to wherever it is that Lincecum lives.

"Do you like Italian food? There's a hole in the wall in the North Beach I know. No one will say anything about either of us being there."

Lincecum wasn't kidding when he called the place a hole in the wall; there are maybe ten tables and only a few of them could seat more than two. The hostess just smiles at Lincecum as he heads straight to a table all the way in the back behind a sort of half screen thing that's covered in fake grape vines.

"You can't even see us from the door," Lincecum says as Buster sits down. "We're safe from view."

They order and then Buster fidgets with his silverware. "Sorry," he says after a moment. "I'm kind of having second thoughts."

"The lasagna's good, regardless," Lincecum says with a smile. "You won't have totally wasted your evening."

"Anything would be better than leftover delivery Chinese."

"You don't cook?"

"I never learned." Buster shrugs a little. "Never really learned any skills other than baseball."

"You did well in school."

"I wasn't going to go to college and not do well." He can't help laughing because God, he sounds like such a fucking cliche. "I'm not trying to sound...."

"No, I can see what you mean," Lincecum says with a smile. "You don't really do anything by halves do you?"

"I try not to."

"It's a slump," Lincecum says.

Buster sighs as the server leaves their salads. "I keep telling myself that. I know I can't keep batting .417." And yes, of course he knows July's slash line:.417/.466/1.675

"Not in this day and age, unfortunately." Lincecum sips his wine. "But you'll hit better. One day, you'll suddenly realize that you're seeing the ball and you're getting hits again."

"You really think that?"

"I've been watching baseball for over a hundred and twenty five years," Lincecum says. "Not to say that I can't be wrong about a player, but in this case, I don't think I am."

"I don't have anything else," Buster says. He blinks a little because what is he thinking, saying this to Lincecum?

"No you don't," Lincecum says. "That can't be easy."

Buster looks down at his plate. "I could already be married. But I...." And why the hell not, since Lincecum already knows he's gay. "I couldn't keep lying to her like that."

"And you never thought of finding a...partner?" Lincecum hesitates a little, like he's not quite sure of the right word.

"Seriously?"

"Trust me, you wouldn't be the first in baseball."

Buster kind of wants to ask for names, but there's no way he can. "Maybe if I'd found someone when I was in school or in the minors. Now, not so much."

In spite of the direction the conversation is going, the silence that follows is oddly comfortable. The soup, when it comes, is good and Buster notices that Lincecum's eating as much of it as Buster is.

"Do you get anything out of it?" he asks, gesturing in the direction of Lincecum's soup.

"The taste, but that's all," Lincecum says. "My body processes it, but I don't get any nutrition from it." He glances at his wine glass and sighs a little. "Can't get drunk or stoned either."

"Stoned? Did you ever, before?"

"Marijuana wasn't invented in the 1960s, you know. And it's not a native plant. We brought it west with us."

"You in particular?"

"Our party was just one of the ones that did," Lincecum says. "And we weren't only making rope out of it."

"I had no idea." Buster can't help laughing a little. "They don't exactly teach us that about the pioneers."

"There's a lot they don't teach you."

"Does it bug you? In general, I mean...that books get so much of it wrong?"

"Not really. There are some of us, much older than me, who don't like it, but me? History's never gonna get it right. And I was a fucking lumberjack who never went to grade school, let alone college. What do I know?"

"Baseball," Buster says. "You know a lot about baseball."

"Yeah," Lincecum says and smiles. "I played it most of my life before I was Turned."

"Even when you--your party--first got to Washington?"

"Sort of. We played something like what they call town ball now; we just called it ball. We'd play on Sundays after Bible readings and before baths." When Buster gives him a skeptical look, Lincecum grins. "Unless you got really filthy doing something during the week, full baths with hot water were for Sunday and even then, we shared."

"I'll stick to showers everyday, thanks."

"You don't notice it when everyone around you is grubby too. And it wasn't that bad. We'd wash up in the mornings, before dinner and before we went to bed."

"And the Bible readings?"

"That's true too. We weren't real religious, but," he shrugs. "You're in a completely unfamiliar place and there were maybe, what...twenty of us at first. " He looks off into the distance. "You've gotta have faith...a moral center, I guess. Or at least a shared mythology. Not that it took with me. Or at least, not in the end."

Buster can't think of anything to say, so he just eats his soup and waits.

"Sorry," Lincecum says after a moment. "We do that. Get a little lost in time."

"Lot of time to get lost in," Buster says.

"Yeah. But you asked about baseball. We played something a lot more organized up in the logging camps. That was after the War--the Civil War, I mean--and the rules had started to settle down a little. It still wasn't the modern game though."

"What position did you play?"

"I pitched but it wasn't anything like pitching now. Batters could take as many pitches as they liked and they could tell you if they wanted the ball high or low."

"Seriously?"

Tim nods. "The thing you need to understand is that it was mostly about fielding; the pitcher was there to feed the ball to the batter and the batter's job was to get it into the outfield. That's where you showed off your real skill. And it was where you were macho because we didn't use gloves. Our catcher did, but even he was just using the work gloves we used all the time. And he didn't crouch; he just stood behind the batter."

"Huh." Buster thinks about playing like that, about not really catching and not calling the game. "I'll take the modern game," he says.

"You'd be a good hitter in any era."

"So are you. I mean, you know what you're doing with a bat in a modern yard."

"Years of watching pros do it," Lincecum says with a laugh. "And, of course, I'm stronger and can see better than anyone playing the game; the ball looks pretty slow to me."

"That streak," Buster says before he can stop himself. "I was using your bat."

"I know. I'm sorry about that day. I shouldn't have singled you out, but...." Lincecum shrugs. "I was having a good time and I forgot."

"It's okay. The guys talk a little but not to me and Bum says it's not a big deal or anything."

There's another pause while the waiter drops off their dinners. The lasagna is more than just good; Buster's pretty sure he's never had better. "This is fantastic," he says. "I'm gonna start coming here for dinner every night I can."

"If you do, try the linguine with clam sauce. Also they make a really good pizza too; much better than most delivery."

"As if I weren't already worried about my weight."

"You've got a few years before you really have to worry," Lincecum says. "Of course, you'll hit that metabolism shift somewhere around twenty-five, but knowing you, you'll just work out more."

"Easy for you to say," Buster says without thinking. "Oh fuck...sorry."

"For what? Treating me like a friend?"

"That's kind of making an assumption."

"Doesn't have to be."

Buster wants to believe it, but he wonders if it's possible. "Do you," he says and then pauses and eats a bit of lasagna. Across the table, Lincecum looks curious, but he doesn't push Buster to finish the question.

"Do you know about the dreams?" Buster stares down at his lasagna, unable to meet Lincecum's eyes.

"That you have them, yes. The details? No." He pauses until Buster looks up. "I'm sorry. We get...I mean, look at me objectively. I'm a short, skinny, not particularly attractive dude with long hair." Buster's not sure he agrees, but he doesn't say anything. "The charisma is a trait we gain to make us better hunters."

"So wait, I'm having pornographic dreams about you because of some kind of vampire duck call?"

Lincecum laughs and then Buster's laughing too, because wow, what a shitty and yet hilarious analogy.

"No really," Lincecum says after another loud snort of laughter. "That's pretty much it."

"Sorry for being a redneck," Buster says after a gulp of his water.

"Sorry for freaking you out." Lincecum's not laughing now. "I feel bad about it; honestly, I don't know what I was doing staring at you that much when you first came up."

"Really? Because I've been wondering if you just...fuck. Knew about me or something."

"That you're gay?" Even though Lincecum's voice is low, Buster can't help looking around. He feels stupid about it because there's no one near them.

"I didn't know that until that roadie in Colorado after Molina was traded. If you were having dreams before that, I wouldn't have felt them. Too much physical distance."

Buster can't help remembering that night and how he'd touched himself. "That wasn't a dream," he says, his cheeks hot.

"Oh?" Lincecum sounds a little distant, almost polite. "I can't really tell the difference," he adds. "Not that it matters. When that happens--dreams about me or whatever--I tend to assume it's the duck call. Or, in the case of that night in Milwaukee, alcohol."

"But after that night, you stopped staring."

Lincecum's silent for a moment. "I don't know how to say this without damaging your pride or making you feel that there's something wrong with you."

"I already...." Buster bites back the rest of that sentence. "Go on. Please."

"You're very, well, needy is the wrong word. Let's just say it's hard for me to resist you when I can feel the want in you, even if I'm chalking it up to bourbon or charisma."

Buster's opening his mouth, but Lincecum holds up a hand. "Don't apologize. There's nothing wrong with wanting what you want."

"Yes there is," Buster says, and now he's a little angry. "I don't know if you can even understand."

"Try me," Lincecum says dryly. "I worked in a logging camp looking like his," he gestures at himself, "in the 1800s. And I just happened to prefer the company of other men, as we put it back then. If we were being polite."

"Oh," Buster says. "I hadn't thought about that. I'm sorry." He's not sure it helps, but maybe it does. A little.

"As far as I'm concerned, the only thing that's wrong is that it's been over a hundred years and here you are--an incredibly talented, good looking young man who thinks something's wrong with him. That should have changed by now."

"It is changing," Buster says. "But not for nice boys from Georgia who play big league ball, or I dunno, I guess it is changing for some guys in the show. Bum's okay with it and he's another hick. And maybe it could change for me, but...I'm too afraid to try."

"Sometimes there's a moment when everything you thought you knew about yourself changes. It's frightening."

"Yeah."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You've got a lot on your plate right now."

Buster nods and then, even though he knows Lincecum wasn't making a joke, he turns his attention to his food. After a moment, Lincecum starts talking about the Padres and breaking down things that he thinks will keep them from the playoffs. Buster doesn't agree with some of it and all of a sudden they've discussed their way through the last of the lasagna, tiramisu and coffee.

"Thank you," Buster finally says. "For listening. Talking. Dinner. All of it."

"Any time," Lincecum says and then smiles. "Now that you've had dinner with me, don't bother trying to pay next time you come in. I own the place and believe me, they refuse to charge my friends, no matter how much you argue."

"You own a restaurant? Why?"

"Why not?" Lincecum gets that look again--lost in time, he called it. "I had a Companion who liked Italian food."

Before Buster can say anything, Lincecum smiles a little. "I don't let them put up the names of my past Companions on the Council site."

"I thought you were too young to read minds."

"Smoke and mirrors," Lincecum says. "I've been watching people for a long time and I'm good at guessing what questions are coming next."

"Do you know what I'm about to ask now?" Buster surprises himself by staring steadily into Lincecum's eyes.

"No. Once you have your game face on, you're hard to read."

"What, exactly, do you want from me?" Buster frowns a little. "And why me?"

"What I want is obvious. I want to take you as my lover."

It's an odd way to put it and Buster wonders if it's because Lincecum is old or if it's because he's a vampire. Or maybe it's just because he's figured Buster out. Maybe he knows Buster would be turned on by the possessiveness.

"Why you is a little more complicated. You're very good looking, but when you're a vampire...." Lincecum shrugs. "I could have any number of hot people who come with fewer complications."

"I figured," Buster says.

"You're an incredible ball player and if you have an ego, it doesn't show. You've handled the pressure well and you look like you've been playing in the bigs for years. That's part of it, but it doesn't explain...." Lincecum spreads his hands.

"Remember how I said how I could feel how much you wanted me?" When Buster nods, Lincecum continues. "You're not the only one who wants. As for why you, in particular, do that to me; I don't know. Why does anyone like one person instead of another?"

Buster lets out a long breath. For all he knows, Lincecum could be lying to him, but he doesn't think that's the case.

"I wish I could say it was just you," he says.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I don't know how much of what I'm feeling is the...the duck call. When I...with guys, I never really saw them. It was in dark bars and I didn't look real hard. And, sweet Jesus, did I just say that?" His face is on fire and he can't look at anything but his coffee cup.

"Afraid so."

"Yeah. Well, my point is," Buster says, still looking down. "I don't have much in the way of a type, so I'm sorry that I can't say I'd want you if you weren't a vampire."

"Oh." Lincecum sounds surprised. "That's a very nice thing to say for you to say. But it's not something that should bother you; being a vampire and having charisma is just part of who I am. Like you having gorgeous blue eyes and a neck that...."

Buster looks up; Lincecum is staring at him and, oh God, it's like Milwaukee all over again. Buster's not drunk, but the pull is almost as strong. Before he can stop himself, he reaches up and tugs at the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck," Lincecum says, his voice rough. "I'm sorry." He looks away and presses his lips together hard. Buster stares because what the hell is wrong with his mouth? Oh, he thinks. Lincecum's fangs.

"Don't be," Buster says. "I want...."

"No, you don't." Lincecum shakes his head and Buster notices his mouth looks normal again. "I'm pushing you and it's not fair...."

"Stop it," Buster snaps, surprising himself. "You don't get to tell me what I want and don't want. Do you know how much fucking soul searching I've gone through to even be able say that I want you? You can't Influence me and if you're pushing a little, so what? I can get up and walk out of here any time I like, right?"

Lincecum nods and Buster's vaguely gratified by the look of surprise on his face.

"But I haven't. And maybe I'm a little scared and maybe you can feel that, but if I say I want you, it's not because you're making me say it."

"You're right," Lincecum says. "And I'm sorry."

"Me too," Buster says. Now that the moment's passed, he feels kind of stupid. "I didn't mean to go off like that."

They look at one another and yeah, even just sitting here like this, Buster can feel the pull a little. This time, though, he knows for sure at least part of it is him. "If I go home with you...if we...." He sighs because he can't even say it. "I would still be able to leave, right?"

"Technically," Lincecum says. "But once I've got my teeth in your throat, you won't want to." He shrugs a little. "I'm not trying to scare you or say that I'm that awesome, but once I start feeding, there's a whole process that starts up and I...."

"You're the only predator above me on the food chain," Buster says. He remembers that much from school. "And when you feed, you control your prey."

"Exactly."

Buster looks back down at the table for a moment. "Is it fucked up that I find that hot?" Because he does and he probably doesn't have to tell Lincecum that.

"I sure as hell don't think so. But I'm a little biased; after all, it feels great from my side too."

"Does it?"

"Yes. And, look, maybe you can't leave during, but you can leave before or after. And me feeding from you once doesn't create any kind of bond between us. If it doesn't work out or we don't suit, it's not some big thing."

"All right," Buster says. He takes a deep breath. "I think this is where I ask if we're going to your place or mine."

"Are you sure you want," Lincecum begins. He shakes his head a little. "Okay. My place. You need to have a space that's yours."

Buster thinks he knows what Lincecum means and it's kind of reassuring.

He has time, on the drive over to Lincecum's place, to rethink everything. It isn't that Lincecum pushed him so much as Buster pushed himself. And maybe he should stop and think and maybe he shouldn't have agreed to this, but it's his decision to make, not Lincecum's. And God, he's so fucking sick and tired of being afraid. He could, he knows, spend forever in denial and have nothing but baseball, but he's getting tired of that too.

Fuck it, he thinks. Maybe once, just once, he's going to be impulsive and not do the sensible thing.

Buster doesn't know what he was expecting, but Lincecum's condo surprises him. The penthouse is big and modern looking and while Buster doesn't know a damn thing about interior design, it doesn't look like it came straight out of a magazine. It looks lived in. Expensive, but lived in.

"It's way too much space for just me," Lincecum says. "But I have to entertain and anyway, it's San Francisco, right? It's all about the view. We missed the sunset, but it's still gorgeous."

He's right. The fog's rolled in, but the warning lights atop the Golden Gate Bridge are visible just above the fog bank.

"Wow," Buster says and then feels stupid.

"I never get tired of it," Lincecum says. "You want a glass of wine? Or no, you're not much of a drinker, at least according to Bumgarner."

"God," Buster says. "I was so drunk that night. I haven't even been able to smell bourbon, let alone drink it, since."

"Have you always been this hard on yourself? You had a hell of a game that day and you're what, all of twenty-three? Nothing wrong with celebrating."

"I'm always worried about what's going to happen if I get too drunk. I...God, I can't even believe this, but after Bum got me back to my room, I offered to blow him."

"He already knew?"

"About me? Yeah. And he turned me down, but still, I just can't get drunk and go around offering blowjobs to my friends."

"I'd really prefer it if you didn't," Lincecum says.

By the time Buster's turned away from the view, Lincecum's right in front of him. It's weird because Lincecum's small--both shorter and lighter than Buster--but right now he seems to loom over Buster.

"What about you?" Buster asks, surprised at how steady his voice is. "Is it okay if I offer...." Instead of finishing the question, he goes down on his knees.

It's not some dark bar and Lincecum's not some guy he doesn't want to know, but even taking all that into consideration, it's still different. Before, kneeling was a means to an end; the sooner he got on his knees, the sooner he'd get what he wanted. He was usually pretty aggressive about it too. Half the time he undid the guy's fly himself because the guy was taking too long, and he always kept to his own pace. In spite of loving to suck cock, he always figured he was too much of a control freak to be a true bottom.

But now it feels right to be down here and to wait for Lincecum to decide what happens next.

"You can offer anything you want," Lincecum says. He reaches down and runs his hand through Buster's hair. "Is it okay if I take what I want?"

"Yes," Buster says and now his voice isn't steady at all. Lincecum's hand goes tight in his hair and Buster takes a deep breath. "Please," he says and it's like jumping out of an airplane. He's falling now and all he can do is hope that Lincecum will catch him.

"God," Lincecum murmurs. "If I'd known what you'd be like...." To Buster's surprise, he goes down on his knees too. Still gripping Buster's hair, he pulls him in for a kiss. It's not like any kiss Buster's ever had. And fine, his experience is limited--dudes in gay bars don't go in much for kissing--but it's not like any kiss he's ever imagined.

Lincecum's totally in charge and all Buster can do is open his mouth and let Lincecum kiss him. It's all he _wants_ to do; all he wants right now is to feel the warm pressure of Lincecum's lips against his. It's good--so good--and it gets even better when Lincecum's tongue presses into his mouth. Buster's whole body is hot and as Lincecum kisses him harder and harder, Buster's sure he could come from this alone.

He's shaking and breathless when Lincecum finally pulls back. Lincecum's still got his hand in Buster's hair and when he tugs hard, pulling Buster's head back, Buster catches his breath. This, he thinks, is it. And God, but Buster's ready for it.

But no, Lincecum does bend down but all he does is scrape his teeth across Buster's neck. "You have no idea how much I want you."

"Why...." Buster has to pause and swallow hard. "Why don't you?"

"I want to wait." Lincecum drags his teeth across Buster's neck again and this time, Buster can tell he's using his fangs. "It's even better if I do it while you're coming."

"Keep doing that," Buster says as he shivers hard. "And it won't be long."

Lincecum chuckles and Buster can feel it against his neck. "Not like this; not on the living room floor." Letting go of Buster's hair, Lincecum stands up. Buster stays where he is, looking up at Lincecum.

"Come on," Lincecum says, holding his hand down. Buster takes it and is startled when Lincecum pulls him to his feet in one smooth motion. It's not like he's going to forget Lincecum's a vampire--not when his neck is still tingling from the scrape of Lincecum's teeth--but in spite of watching Lincecum take BP more than once, Buster forgets just how strong he is.

As Lincecum leads him toward the bedroom, Buster has the vague impression of seeing several large rooms off the hall, but most of his attention is on the feel of Lincecum's hand on his. Maybe it's a little silly, but Buster likes it even if it kind of makes him the girl.

Lincecum's bedroom is big and dark, and because the fog's so heavy tonight, the view from the huge picture window makes it looks like they're up among the clouds. When Lincecum lets go of Buster's hand and turns on a light, it's still dim enough that Buster can't see any details of the room.

"No," Lincecum says as Buster starts to sit down on the bed. "Come forward a couple of steps." When Buster, who's a little confused, steps forward, Lincecum looks at him for a long moment. "Take your clothes off for me."

As Buster bends down to unlace his shoes, he knows his face is red. In the low light, a normal person wouldn't be able to see his blush. Lincecum, on the other hand, probably knows it's there; hell, he can probably feel it. And it stays there, hot on his cheeks as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. He can't help thinking of that night in Colorado, when he said _I'd do me._ He knows what Lincecum's seeing and it's not like Buster has anything to be ashamed up but still, he's never done anything like this. He drops his shirt on the floor and reaches down to his belt buckle.

For just a moment, it's too much; Buster's not sure he can do this. Before he can push himself, Lincecum's right in front of him again. "Let me," Lincecum says, and it's not exactly a question or a request.

Once Lincecum's helped him out of his jeans and shorts, he steps back again. "I've seen some beautiful people in my life, but you're--you look like an artist's rendition of the perfect baseball player."

"I'm not beautiful," Buster says with a scowl. He fights the urge to cover himself up.

"Eye of the beholder and all that," Lincecum says, with a gesture that waves off Buster's protest. "I don't think of you as feminine if that's what's got you upset."

"A little," Buster says. "I'm kind of the girl here."

"No you aren't." Lincecum steps forward and rests his hand on Buster's chest, right over his heart. "If I wanted a girl, I'd have one. If I wanted a feminine looking guy...fuck it, I'd look in the mirror."

"You don't look like a girl," Buster says. "But okay, I get it."

"Good, because we need to stop talking." Lincecum presses his hand against Buster's chest and then moves it downward. Just when Buster's sure Lincecum's going to touch his dick, he moves his hand over so that he's stroking the outside of Buster's hip. He stops there and they stand like that for a long moment--Lincecum's hand the only point of contact between them.

Finally, Buster needs more. "Please," he says and there's that falling feeling again. "Please."

He can hear Lincecum catch his breath and his fingers tighten on Buster's hip. "I want you on the bed now," he says, his voice rough.

Stepping back to sit on the bed is easy and so is lying down. It shouldn't be--Buster's lying naked on the bed while Lincecum's still dressed and that's kind of weird--but it is. Buster goes up on his elbows to watch as Lincecum pulls his clothes off. It's flattering because Lincecum's in a real hurry to get undressed; his clothes end up on a heap on the floor and as soon as he's naked, he's on the bed.

"Here's what I'm going to do," Lincecum says as he straddles Buster. The light's dim, but Buster can still see him. Lincecum's slim but not skinny and his dick is just about perfect.

Buster licks his lips.

"Later," Lincecum says. Buster blushes, but Lincecum just smiles at him. "Right now, you're going lie back and let me do the work."

Before Buster can answer, Lincecum slides to one side, sitting next to Buster. "If you won't accept 'beautiful,'" he says, leaning down. "How about something more modern? Can I tell you how hot you are?"

Again, he doesn't give Buster time to say anything. Not that it matters, because as soon as Lincecum kisses him, Buster can't think of anything but the feel of Lincecum's mouth on his. By the time Lincecum slides his hand up into Buster's hair again, Buster's moaning into Lincecum's mouth and trying not to squirm on the bed.

"You're going to taste so good," Lincecum murmurs, his mouth against Buster's cheek now. He's got his hand on Buster's hip again and this time he doesn't stop there.

"Oh God," Buster says as Lincecum's hand closes over his dick. "Oh God...oh fuck!"

"Tell me I can," Lincecum says. "I can feel how much you want it, but you need to tell me, Buster."

"Please...oh God, please do it." It's more begging than telling, but Buster doesn't really care right now. His hips buck, shoving his dick into Lincecum's hand. "Please?"

It hurts a little as Lincecum yanks his head back by his hair, but that doesn't matter. The only thing matters is that his throat is bare and bent back so all Lincecum has to do is lean down.

Buster barely feels the initial bite as Lincecum's fangs pierce his skin; any pain he might be feeling is lost in a rush of sensation. Lincecum's jerking him off now, but even that is secondary to the feel of Lincecum's teeth at his throat. All Buster knows is that he wants, no, _needs_ to give Lincecum more. More of his blood, more of himself, more of whatever he has to give.

His orgasm is almost a surprise; it slams into him and it's so intense Buster can't really process it all. He shudders hard and there's a thin wash of color behind his eyelids--red, like the blood Lincecum's taking from him. He vaguely remembers Lincecum saying Buster wouldn't want to leave once Lincecum had his teeth in his throat. He was right. Buster doesn't want to leave; he wants to stay here forever.

Finally, after what seems only a few seconds, Lincecum pulls away. "No," Buster gasps. "Don't!"

"Shhhhh," Lincecum murmurs. Buster shudders again--just a little this time--and moans when Lincecum licks his neck. "If I take more, I won't be able to do this again later."

Oh right, Buster thinks. There isn't a game tomorrow, so maybe in the morning, Lincecum be able to bite him again. "So good," he says. He's still breathless and he feels like he might never move again. "I didn't know...."

"You couldn't," Lincecum says. "Just like I couldn't know how good you'd taste." He reaches up and rests his hand over Buster's neck, one fingertip pressing right where he bit Buster. "Good thing too; I'd have dragged you out of the clubhouse that first day."

"If I'd known," Buster says with soft laugh. "I'd have let you."

Lincecum looks at him, his eyes dark. "I wish I could," he says and his hand tightens on Buster's neck. "Pull you out of the room in front of everyone."

"Oh God." Buster knows it can't happen, but for a second he wants it to. "I had a dream," he says.

"Wait," Lincecum says, turning to lie on his back. "You ever jerked anyone off?"

"A couple times," Buster says. "Before I realized how much I...."

"How much you?"

It's not quite a demand, but Buster answers anyway. "How much I like sucking cock," he says, his face hot again.

His face stays red as Lincecum takes Buster's hand in his and presses it against his dick. He's only the second uncut guy Buster's ever been with, but still, a dick's a dick. Buster settles on his side facing Lincecum and moves his hand in a slow easy rhythm.

Then, because he knows what Lincecum wants, he swallows hard and starts talking.

"It wasn't in front of everyone," he says, keeping his eyes on his hand sliding up and down Lincecum's dick. "We were at the yard. It was late and everything was dark. But...."

"But?" Lincecum's voice is a little unsteady.

"But when you shoved me up against the wall in center, I felt like everyone could see us."

"I like your dreams. Were you in your uni?"

"Yeah...no shorts under it though, just a jock."

"Fuck," Lincecum mutters. He's moving hard, pushing up into Buster's hand.

"Pretty much," he says. "You pulled my pants down and told me how good I was gonna taste."

"And you do. I could do that, you know--kick everyone out of the park, all the security...and...."

"Take me against that wall? With your fangs at my throat?" Buster's panting a little and his whole body is hot.

"Yeah," Lincecum says roughly. "Shove you against the padding...bite you as you come all over it...fuck!"

He pushes up into Buster's hand again and when he comes, Buster bends down and catches the last of it in his mouth. He's not sure what he was expecting, but it just tastes like come. He slides his tongue across the head of Lincecum's dick again, cleaning up the last of it.

"You," Lincecum says, watching as Buster licks his hand off. "You're unreal."

"Says the vampire," Buster says with a little laugh. "You know, I didn't even know if you could...if sex works the same way for you. I didn't look that up."

"Yeah well, it's not on the Council site, that's for damn sure," Lincecum says with a laugh of his own. "It's like eating or drinking. Obviously we don't breed that way, but other than that, the equipment is all still in good working order. And it feels good, very good at times, but it's even better while I'm feeding." He sighs. "Can't explain it really.

"So if you...if you fucked me and bit me during...."

"It would be very very good. For both of us."

Buster sits back on his heels and looks down at the bed. "I...that first night in Colorado. I had a couple beers and then I...." He laughs a little, even though he's blushing again. "I'm kind of old-fashioned; I use Vaseline when I'm working in a new glove and so it was right there next to the bed...I never let anyone else touch me there and...." His voice trails off because he just can't say the rest of it.

Lincecum reaches out and puts a hand on his knee. "So that's what I was feeling up in the penthouse suite. I thought it was a dream but even so, it was pretty intense." He pauses and then says, "Come down here."

Given the size difference, it should feel weird to curl up with Lincecum, but it's kind of nice. Lincecum runs his fingers through Buster's hair. "Don't do the buzz cut again."

"Cainer told me it makes me look like a skinhead."

"Which it does, but mostly I want something to get my fingers into." He tugs a little and Buster tilts his head back so Lincecum can kiss him.

"God, there's all this need in you; you want this so much." Lincecum says after kissing Buster for a long moment. "I don't want to hurt your pride, but it seems that I...."

"Bring out my submissive side?" Buster can't help a little huff of laughter, even as he feels his heart start to pound. "I might be really repressed, but I'm not totally ignorant."

"I know you're not. I'm just not sure how comfortable you are talking about it."

"I'm not totally freaked out," Buster says. "I'm afraid, but before you say anything...." He rolls a little and presses against Lincecum's thigh. "I seem to like it when you scare me." Which is putting it lightly judging by his recovery time. Normally it takes him at least an hour, but he's already hard again and it's been less than twenty minutes since he came.

"So you do." Lincecum reaches down between them and wraps his hand around Buster's dick. "I don't want your first time to be too scary, though."

"Not much you can do about that. Sorry, but...." Buster tries to be still, tries not to squirm. "It's not just being scared. That's only part of it."

"It's belonging," Lincecum says. "You want to be mine."

"Yeah, I really do." When Lincecum moves his hand from Buster's dick to his hip, Buster lets Lincecum roll him onto his back. "Please," he says, looking right into Lincecum's eyes. "I don't want you to go easy on me. I'm an adult of sound mind and all that; I know what I want and I want...earlier you said you wanted to take me as your lover. That's what I want." Emphasis, he thinks, on take.

"All right," Lincecum says. "You need to trust me, though."

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Thank you," Lincecum says. After bending down to give him another hard, deep kiss, Lincecum pats Buster's hip. "I want you on your stomach, but you need to turn around first. I want you facing the foot of the bed.

Buster swallows hard, but does what he's told.

"I'll take you on your back next time, but believe me, it'll be a lot easier for both of us if we do it this way the first time."

"Okay," Buster says. "Do I...should I be on my hands and knees?"

"Eventually, but for now, you're fine." Even as he speaks, Lincecum gets off the bed. Buster watches as he moves toward a set of drapes.

What the hell, Buster thinks. There can't be another window there; the angle's not right. Then, when Lincecum pulls the drapes aside, Buster sees his own face. A mirror then. The light in the room is dim enough that Buster can barely make out his own features, but that changes when Lincecum turns the light up a little.

"You don't have to look now," Lincecum says, grabbing something off the nightstand before coming back to bed. "It's for later, when you're ready to see what I'm doing to you."

"Um...okay," Buster says again, turning his head so that his cheek rests on the bedspread. It puts the mirror out of view and he can't help wondering if he's ever going to be ready to look into it.

"It's all right." Lincecum sits on the bed and runs his hand down Buster's back. "You'll see. For now, just let me touch you."

It's surprisingly relaxing; Lincecum's hands are sure and strong on Buster's body, like Buster's clay and Lincecum is molding into something different than he was before. It's an odd thought, but being around Lincecum does that to Buster.

"Your thighs," Lincecum murmurs as he runs his hands up Buster's legs.

"All that squatting...oh God...." Buster totally loses track of what he was going to say as Lincecum's hands slide to the insides of his thighs. All it takes is the slightest pressure and he's spreading his legs. "Can you...?"

"Can I what?"

"Tell how much I...I mean, you have to be able to...oh Jesus...." Lincecum's got his hands high on Buster's thighs and Buster can't help tilting his hips a little as Lincecum's thumbs press against the underside of his ass.

"Honestly," Lincecum says, bending down and kissing the back of Buster's neck. "I could be across the country and be able to tell." Then, as Buster's face goes hot, he kisses Buster's neck again. "It's good," he says. "It's all right. I told you--I like that about you."

Buster opens his mouth to say...something, but then Lincecum grazes the back of his neck with his teeth and Buster shudders hard. He's scared and he wants it and both feelings are all tangled up together. "Please," he says without knowing exactly what he's asking for. "Please...."

Lincecum's slower with Buster than Buster is himself--the few times Buster's done this since that first time in Denver, he's kind of rushed it. Now, though, there's no burn, no ache, nothing but the easy, slick pressure of Lincecum's fingers as he opens Buster up. Buster's panting and rocking his hips back and God, he's glad he came a little while ago because otherwise he'd go off right now.

The little whining noise he makes when Lincecum stops is a kind of embarrassing, but dammit, he wants more. "Please," he says again. He's not sure he can say anything else, not sure he has any other words right now.

"I could listen to you say that all night," Lincecum murmurs in his ear. "Maybe some night, I will. But right now, I want you to get up on your hands and knees for me."

It's not easy; he's already shaky and uncoordinated. Scared too, but in a good way, which is something he wouldn't have thought possible before this. He still can't look at the mirror though. Closing his eyes isn't any better, he discovers. With nothing to look at, nothing to focus on, he's keenly aware of the sweep of Lincecum's hand as he runs it over Buster's back, hip and down to his thigh. "Spread a little wider, that's right. You're so gorgeous; how could I not look at you? How could I not want you?"

The compliments are less embarrassing now, but Buster's can still feel his face going hot. Then Lincecum is slicking him up again, teasing him until Buster squirms and tries to catch his breath. He almost wants this to go on longer, wants to stay here on the edge of anticipation--fear and need so tangled up that he can't tell one from the other.

"Say it for me, Buster," Lincecum says. "You know what I want to hear."

And yes, Buster knows. "Please, oh God, please," he says, his voice rough. "Want you to fuck me...need it. Want to...to bleed for you."

"You're so," Lincecum says and he sounds almost as hoarse as Buster. He doesn't finish the sentence, but Buster couldn't care less as he feels Lincecum settle in between his legs.

"Please," he says again. It's all he has time for before he feels Lincecum's hands grip his hips.

It doesn't exactly hurt as Lincecum presses slowly into him, but it's still a little overwhelming. This is what Buster wants--what, if he's being honest with himself, he's wanted ever since he knew anything about gay sex.

"That's it," Lincecum murmurs. "Let me do this, let me have you."

"Yes, God yes," Buster says, because of course the answer is yes. He's not sure he could say no even if he wanted to and again, there's that twisting feeling.

"Am I frightening you?" Lincecum's hands go tighter on Buster's hips.

"Yes...it's almost...." Buster's voice trails off into a loud groan as Lincecum pushes in a littler harder. He can feel Lincecum's hips right against his ass, which means....

"Almost what?"

"Huh? Oh," Buster says with a shiver. "Too much. Almost too much." He pulls away a little and then pushes back again, catching his breath because it feels o fucking good. "Almost not enough," he says, not caring that he's not making very much sense right now.

"Good," Lincecum says. "You're being so good for me." He reaches up and grips one of Buster's shoulders hard. "For me," he says, his voice rougher now.

Buster wants to agree, but Lincecum's moving now and feel of him, the steady push of his cock, is making it impossible for Buster to think, let alone speak. He's moving right along with Lincecum, rocking back to meet each thrust. When, after several breathless minutes, Lincecum stops, Buster mumbles some incoherent protest and tries to keep moving. Lincecum's hands clamp down hard on his hips, holding him still.

"I'm going to sit back," he says. "And you're going to move with me." He tugs a little at Buster's hips until Buster figures out what he wants.

The position--he's kind of sitting on Lincecum's lap, Lincecum's chest hot against Buster's back--feels fantastic. Buster's aware of Lincecum's whole body in a way he wasn't earlier and it gets even better when Lincecum starts moving again. "Oh! Oh God...oh fuck, what the...." Buster's babbling, but he's got good cause because the angle is perfect and each time Lincecum thrusts up into him, there's this...this thing happening. It's like a live wire, like an electric current running right through him.

"Yes," Lincecum murmurs. his mouth moving against the back of Buster's neck. "That's what all the fuss is about. You want more, don't you?"

"Please," Buster says and then, "please," and again, "please." Right now, he never wants to do anything else, be anywhere but here in this bed while Lincecum fucks him. "Please," he moans again.

Lincecum's moving faster now and suddenly, as he holds Buster in place so that he can fuck him harder, Buster feels a real jolt of fear. Lincecum's so fucking strong; even if Buster wanted to get away--which he doesn't--he's not sure he could. This is what he dreamed about, giving it up for someone who was strong enough to take him and make him like it.

"That," Lincecum says and he's finally sounding a little breathless. "That feels...you feel amazing. You're so fucking tight, so fucking hot, and so fucking scared." He slides an arm around Buster's waist and pulls him in even closer. "Move a little for me...like this."

Buster's not sure why Lincecum wants to move him; he can't really fuck Buster from this angle, although Buster can still feel every inch of Lincecum's cock buried inside him.

"Open your eyes," Lincecum says. "Do it, Buster," he adds when Buster makes a confused little noise. "Look at us."

Buster forgot about the mirror until now. When he opens his eyes, he stares at it, at them, in shock. "That's what I see," Lincecum says. "Look at yourself. You're perfect like this, so perfect."

Buster's not sure about that. He looks...he looks...he's not sure what he looks like. His mouth is slightly open in surprise, his eyes are wide, but there's something about his face, something he's never seen before. When Lincecum grinds up into him--a sharp little motion that's not quite a thrust--the surprise on Buster's face changes. His face looks softer, eyes half closed as he leans his head back.

"Remember when I told you that you're beautiful? You see it now?"

"Yeah," Buster says, licking his lower lip. He stares at the mirror, seeing the cut ridges of his pecs and abs, the tense muscles of his thighs, and the thick length of his cock. He's so fucking turned on, so into this, that the head of his dick is slick with pre-come.

"Oh fuck," he groans as Lincecum takes it in hand and rubs his thumb over the head. When Lincecum does it again, along with that same sharp push of his hips, Buster gasps and goes still. "I...oh God...I...please!" His expression's soft again; he suddenly realizes that he doesn't have to say "please" because it's written all over his face and in every tense line of his body.

"Tell me I can," Lincecum says and Buster may be half-drunk on sensation, but he knows what Lincecum wants.

"Yes," he says, tilting his head so Lincecum can reach his neck. "Yes...yes, please!"

Lincecum looks at him in the mirror and Buster catches his breath as Lincecum's eyes narrow. He opens his mouth and Buster can see the sharp, white points of his fangs. Even though the light's still fairly low, Buster thinks he maybe sees the moment when something shifts and Lincecum goes from lover to predator.

"Please," Buster says and then, "Please...I'm...I'm afraid...." It's nothing more than the truth. It's different than it was earlier. Buster knows what it's like now, know how lost in it he'll be. How he can't stop it. How he won't want to stop it.

Lincecum makes a noise that's half gasp, half snarl and then his mouth is against Buster's neck. The arm around Buster's waist tightens and so does Lincecum's other hand; his fingers are digging into Buster's hip. When Buster feels Lincecum's mouth move, he catches one last glimpse of himself in the mirror and then his eyes close.

It feels like Lincecum's biting him slower this time, almost like Buster can feel Lincecum's fangs sliding into him the same way Lincecum's cock slid into him earlier. It hurts, more than it did the first time, but the pain just makes it better as Buster finally--oh God, _finally_ \--feels Lincecum start to feed. Buster's whole body tenses and then he relaxes, going limp in Lincecum's arms. Whatever Lincecum wants from him, he can have. _Take it,_ he thinks. _I'm yours...take everything._

When Lincecum reaches down and grips his cock again, it's just one more thing Lincecum wants from him. It's better if he's coming, Lincecum told him and Buster's not even thinking of himself as he comes hard, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He's still shaking as he slumps back against Lincecum and there's that wash of red behind his eyelids again. He's so gone on it that he barely notices when Lincecum snarls again, the sound muffled by Buster's skin.

When Lincecum finally lifts his head, Buster feels the same disappointment he did earlier. He's still leaning against Lincecum and he moans softly when he feels Lincecum's tongue move across his skin.

"Mmmmmmm," Buster murmurs. When he opens his eyes, and looks in the mirror, he sees Lincecum licking his lips. Buster himself looks contented, relaxed, maybe even happy, but there's still a little hint of the predator on Lincecum's face.

Grabbing Buster's hips, Lincecum lifts him a little and then fucks up into him hard and fast. Bending his head, he presses his mouth against Buster's neck again. "Mine," he says against Buster's skin. "Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," Buster says. "Can't you feel it?" he adds. "I know I'm yours. All yours."

"Mine," Lincecum says again. "Buster...gonna...."

"Please," Buster murmurs.

Lincecum pulls away from Buster's neck with a gasp. He's slamming into Buster hard now and, just as it's really starting to hurt, he goes still and says Buster's name again as he comes.

"Did I hurt you?" Lincecum asks a little later. They've both cleaned up and Buster's got his head on Lincecum's shoulder again. He's still feeling comfortably boneless, enjoying the feel of Lincecum's hand stroking his back.

"Mmmm, yeah. Just enough."

"You'll have bruises on your hips tomorrow and you'll probably be...well, a little sore."

"That just makes it real." Buster turns a little and kisses Lincecum's collarbone. "Is it hard? Not being able to really let go and use all your strength?"

"Not really. Despite what people say, we're not killers. I might be taking what I need from you, but there's a need to...." His voice trails off.

"Keep me around for a midnight snack?"

"They should hire you to write for the Council site" Lincecum says with a laugh. "No really, you have the best way of putting things."

"Duck call," Buster says.

"Exactly." Lincecum's hand moves over Buster's back again. "You're not like anyone I've ever been with."

"Oh?" Buster's not sure he wants to hear about people in Lincecum's past, but as weird as it is for him, it's got to be difficult for Lincecum to think and talk about people who are, presumably, dead.

"Everyone's afraid," Lincecum says. "Even the groupies in the clubs and the people from the escort services. And everyone surrenders, of course. But while most people who get involved with vampires get off on submitting, I've never been with anyone who actually gets off on the fear."

"I never even guessed that I'd get off on either. When I went to bars...." He pauses when Lincecum's arm goes tight around him. "Past tense," he says, kissing Lincecum's neck again. "Back when I went to bars, everything was strictly on my terms."

"One might even think you're a control freak."

Buster snorts. "Imagine that. What's that whole cliche? About super controlling, stressed out businessmen who hire dommes in their off hours? Maybe it works for catchers too."

"I hope you don't have a thing for thigh high heels."

"Not really. Not a good look on either of us. And I don't want to...." He pauses, trying to put it into words. "I got off on it when you bit me and it was hot when you fucked me really hard. I like the idea of seeing finger marks on my skin tomorrow, but I don't really want you to, I dunno, beat me, or anything."

"That's really not my style. Manhandling you, though, that's something else."

"Yeah," Buster says with a smile. "That was good. I like that you're stronger than me."

They're silent for a while, and then Buster takes a deep breath. "I...the submission thing. I don't want...fuck, I don't know how to put this."

"Take your time." Lincecum's voice is neutral and a little cool.

Buster shakes his head. "No, I really liked it. Like a whole fucking lot. But I'm not some boy looking for a leatherman, you know?"

He can feel Lincecum relax. "What?" Lincecum says with a chuckle. "You're not going to call me 'Sir' anymore? How about 'Daddy'?"

"'Fraid not." It might have been a joke, but the question leads to something more serious in Buster's head. "What on earth do I call you?"

"I was kind of hoping for Tim."

He sounds a little wistful and Buster goes up on one elbow to look at him. "Does anyone call you that?"

"Hardly anyone. Not for a long damn time. James--James Bolton--you know he's my Sire, right?"

"Yeah."

"He used to call me Tim or even Timmy, but then, after he Turned me, he started calling me Timothy. He's another century older than I am, so he's kind of formal. And, of course, I wasn't his...molly boy anymore."

"Molly boy?"

"Or Nancy boy. Catamite or Ganymede if you had any kind of education." He's got that stuck in time look and Buster waits until his attention's returned to the present before settling back down on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"For what? Like you said, it happens." Buster's got more questions but he's not sure if he should ask. Tim, he thinks, rolling it over in his mind. It's kind of cool really, to use a name no one else uses.

"I don't think of you that way," Tim says. "I mean as a boy toy. You're way too butch, even if you do bottom for me."

"Thanks for that." Before he can ask any of his questions, he yawns wide enough that his jaw pops a little.

"Will you be all right sleeping here alone for a little while?" When Buster frowns, Tim strokes his back again. "I'll wait until you're asleep but then I have to go shopping."

"Shopping? For what?"

"Whatever your preferred form of protein is. To be honest, I didn't think this would happen as fast as it did and so my fridge is pretty empty. You'll need to pick up some iron pills too, but that can wait."

"How much did you take?"

"Not much. A lot less than blood banks take when you donate, but still, you're going to be pretty hungry when you wake up."

"Oh. I hadn't really thought of that." Buster thinks about it. It's an off day, but then again, he kind of went off the plan earlier at the Italian place. "I'm guessing you don't have a blender?" When Tim shakes his head, Buster shrugs. "Well, what's a couple days, right? Um...some breakfast sausage and eggs, I guess. And wow, Mom would give me grief, but maybe some of those biscuits in a tube."

"She makes her own?"

"They take away your Southern Mom card if you don't."

Tim smiles. "That's a start. We can figure out lunch later."

"Butter," Buster says with another yawn. "And honey, 'n' OJ" He yawns a third time. "You gonna sleep at all?"

"I'll doze with you for a while." Tim sits up and looks down at Buster. "Turn your head a little; I need to check for bruising." He bends down and kisses Buster's neck. "All good."

"Mmmmm, yeah," Buster murmurs. "All good."

He drifts off to sleep knowing that Tim's watching him. It should be weird, but it's comforting instead.


	5. Chapter 5

August 26 -- August 27, 2010

Tim was wrong. Buster's not hungry in the morning; he's fucking ravenous. In addition to the food, Tim picked up a couple protein shakes and Buster slams one back before he even turns on the stove.

Eggs and sausage are one of the few things Buster can cook and the tube of biscuits has instructions printed on it, so breakfast isn't all that bad. Tim has a sausage link and some eggs, mostly, Buster thinks, to be polite. Not that Buster cares; he's too busy stuffing his face.

"That was impressive," Tim says, setting aside his iPad as Buster clears the dishes off the table.

"I always eat a lot," Buster says. "But not like this. Should I be this hungry if you didn't take that much? I mean you said that people give more at a blood bank and all they give you is a donut or some cookies and juice."

"You'll always be hungry after. We don't know why, but it's much more pronounced than if you'd lost blood some other way."

"You don't know why? Really?"

"We don't allow experimentation of any kind and turning one of us over to a scientist is a major violation of the Treaty. That's why we could fight with the Allies in World War Two--Hitler wanted to find out what made us tick. The one attempt didn't go well for his so-called scientists."

"Oh yeah," Buster says. "I remember something about that from college."

"Yeah, take a modern history course and it gets a mention. We want that lesson to stick."

"I bet."

"The thing is, very few of us are scientists. There's an astrophysicist who got Turned during the War but we don't have any other modern scientists and no doctors at all. It's an informal rule; we don't want to turn someone who might have some kind of ulterior motive." He shakes his head. "So anyway, we have no idea why people are hungry as hell once we've fed. The ancient vampires chalked it up to us taking some kind of life force along with the blood and who knows? Maybe they were right."

That's kind of freaky to think about. "I'm not going to age quicker, though, right?"

"Far from it. If we...." Tim gives Buster a very serious look. "There are things you need to know. Now, in the morning. When we're both thinking clearly."

"Okay."

"At dinner last night, I told you that once or twice wouldn't form any kind of...." he trails off and gestures between the two of them. "Some people call it a connection or a link and older vampires call it a bond--I tend to go for connection because honestly? Bond just sounds weird to me. 

"Anyway, I said a couple of nights together won't connect us in any way. And that's true, up to a point."

"And that point is?" Buster asks, attempting to sound as calm as Tim. He doesn't feel any different--well, aside from the fact that he's a little sore. But there's nothing in his head makes him feel like he's somehow connected or linked to Tim.

"There's already something--something less formal--between us. Even before I fed off you last night, we were very aware of each other. Which," he says, holding up a hand when Buster tries to say something. "Which is my fault."

"Not entirely," Buster says. "Would you have still paid attention if I'd asked you to stop?" When Tim shakes his head, Buster continues. "And if I really hadn't wanted you to stare at me, pay attention to me, either you would have known I didn't want it or I'd have been able to say something, right?"

"Yes. At my age, I can't Influence you and I can't even use the duck call to any real effect. You noticed me because of it, but it wouldn't keep your attention all by itself."

"So it's not all your fault."

Tim looks at him. "You're...you're kind of amazing, you know that?"

"What? No I'm not."

"Most people wouldn't feel comfortable insisting on...well, anything, let alone refusing to let me take all the blame for something." He reaches out and rests a hand on Buster's hand. "You're only afraid of me when you want to be."

"I wouldn't put it like that," Buster says. "I'm afraid when I start to lose control of things." He pauses, looking down at their hands. "So, this thing we had even before last night?"

"It gives us a shorter grace period. So, if I feed off you another three or four, maybe five times, it starts to get complicated."

"How?"

"The connection gets more intense. I start to know where you are from a further distance and you'll start to be aware of me the same way. We'll both be able to judge the other's mood and sense any strong emotion. Eventually, you'll know when I'm hungry and if I get really hungry-- and I mean dangerously so--it'll be hard to keep you away from me."

"So what's in it for the human?" Buster's proud of how level his voice is, even though Tim can probably tell he's a little freaked out.

"It kind of goes both ways. If something happens to you, if you get hurt or someone deliberately hurts or threatens you, I won't be able to leave it be. And of course, you'll live longer and your health will be better. Although," he adds with a faint smile. "I"m not sure how that's possible with you."

"Will I still be able to say no? Or will I even want to say no?"

"You'll always be able to say no. If I were older, maybe not. As it is, even if we have a link, I'm just not strong enough to keep you if you don't want to be kept." He grips Buster's hand a little tighter. "I'm glad I'm not older, to be honest. What you're giving me, the things about you that you're sharing...it wouldn't mean as much if you didn't want to share. If I was just taking."

"Okay," Buster says with a sigh. "I can work with that. But what if...I mean, people change. What if one of us...what if we want to split up?"

"That's where it gets complicated. We can do it; I've done it, twice. Mostly recently, with Nate, I left town for a while and he moved to Chicago. But, it took about five, maybe six months before either of us was a hundred percent again. We could both function after the first couple of weeks but everything was just a little off--he said it was like having mono." Tim takes a deep breath. "There's no way in hell you'd be able to play ball during that time. Even if I took off for a long trip to Eastern Europe. You'd have to take a year off because you just wouldn't be sharp enough."

"Oh," Buster says.

"Exactly." Tim pulls his hand away from Buster's. "Last night you got angry when I kept acting like you didn't know what you wanted. And maybe you'll get mad again, but I want you to go home and spend some time doing some real serious thinking. If you need to talk to someone, talk to Bumgarner; he's a good friend and for all he's young, he's got a level head on him. Or Cain. We've gotten to know each other fairly well over the years."

"How well?" Buster asks with a scowl. "Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know what...."

"Yes, now you know how I felt when you mentioned your offer to Bumgarner," Tim says with a rueful smile.

"Trust me, it's not a big deal. I just got stupid at Spring Training a few years back and stayed out all day on the field in a short sleeved shirt and no hat. I almost passed out in the trainer's room, but Cain saw me and offered to help. When I told him what I needed, he offered again. All I did was take a little and send him home to Chelsea. So there was nothing else, but it did make it easier for us to be friends.

"Good." Buster's still not sure why it bugs him, that Tim might have done more with Cain, but it does.

"That's the other thing. Vampires and their Companions are monogamous. I literally won't be able to feed off anyone else--if you're away for whatever reason, I'll make do with the bagged stuff. And you'll keep out of gay bars."

"And no offering Bum anything?" Buster asks with a smile.

"No," Tim snaps. "Sorry. I'm just...." He shakes his head a little like he's trying to clear it. "But really, we're getting ahead of ourselves. I meant it when I said I want you to think this over. This isn't like fucking someone and seeing if it goes anywhere, seeing if you can build on mutual attraction. This is serious and it can affect your career."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because we both said a lot of things last night, but there's one thing neither of us said." When Buster opens his mouth to ask, Tim holds up a hand. "You need to figure that one out on your own."

* * *

It takes most of the drive back to his place for Buster to get it. He said "please" a whole hell of a lot last night, and he told Tim more than once that he was afraid, and he gave Tim permission to off feed him--twice. At one point he knows he said something along the lines of "I'm all yours." So what exactly didn't he say?

Tim said it was something neither of them said, but Tim said "mine" a couple times and he kept talking about how good Buster looked. What was it? What was missing?

"Oh," Buster says, staring out the windshield without seeing anything. The car behind him honks when the light changes and Buster's glad he's almost home because it's hard to concentrate on his driving.

Neither of them said "I love you." Even when Tim explained how it all worked, he never said anything about love.

Maybe it doesn't have to be love, Buster thinks as his apartment door closes behind him. Could be for some couples, it's just an advanced case of friends with benefits--really good benefits. From what Tim said, it works out well for everyone involved so maybe it's just serial monogamy for the vampire; when their Companion moves on, so do they.

But, he realizes, there's the other outcome. Because sometimes it is love and sometimes it lasts at least until the vampire Turns the Companion and maybe even beyond. Buster knows from the reading he did on the Council site that Turning a human against their will is a capital offense--one strike against you and you're left without a head. So the Companion has to want it too, he supposes. He wonders how anyone makes that choice. How would he....

Okay no, he's getting ahead of himself. Way ahead of himself.

He's just not sure how to interpret what Tim said. Does Tim want it to be love? Does he love Buster? Or does he just want the friends with benefits thing, but only if Buster's willing to sign on for the next ten, fifteen years. Hell, Buster's only twenty-three. If they move him from behind the plate at some point, he might be able to play into his early forties. Especially if he stays healthy because he's involved with a vampire. Twenty years is a long time to be with someone you don't love, even for a vampire, let alone a human.

Thing is, Buster's not sure what's going on in his head. He just spent a night having the best sex of his life, but he's pretty confused about where that leaves him. Lust, yeah that much is clear. Love? What's that even like? Buster's never been passionately in love with anyone, or anything that wasn't baseball. He liked Kristen, even cared about her, but he always knew, somewhere in the back of his head that it was going nowhere. He also knew that she loved him a lot more than he loved her and that, in the end, was one of the reasons he couldn't pretend anymore.

When he thinks about Tim, it's almost impossible to separate his emotions from what went on last night. Even now, as he thinks about it, he reaches up and rests his fingers on the side of his neck. Right there, he thinks with a shiver. Right there.

Fuck. He's so fucking confused, maybe more than he was yesterday morning when all this was ahead of him.

It's already mid-afternoon and he feels a little guilty about calling Bum. At least they're not resting up before a roadie, but still, a day off at home means a hell of a lot to the married guys. And Bum and Ali have been married for less than a year so, at least according to Bum, they spend all their time having sex. He can't call Cain, though. He likes Cain--thinks he's a good guy--but he doesn't know him well enough to take his weird vampire issues to him.

To Buster's surprise, Bum answers his phone.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry," Buster says. "I know it's a day off...."

"S'okay." Bum laughs. "We're resting up for round two."

"Dude, don't. It's my turn for the tmi."

"What's that mean?"

"It means I'm...fuck. It means that I went home with Tim, um, with Mr. Lincecum last night."

"Funny."

"Yeah, hilarious, only it's not a fucking joke."

"Were you drunk?"

"No," Buster snaps. "I was not fucking drunk. I knew what I was doing."

"So what, you called to...why did you call? Where are you?"

"My place. I called because...Maddy, I really need someone to talk to." And maybe he sounds pathetic, but then again, he kind of feels that way.

"Okay," Bum says. "Does this require booze? Should I bring over a bottle of Jack?"

"Oh fuck no. No Jack." Buster shudders and wonders if he'll ever be able to drink bourbon again. "I've got beer here."

"'kay. Lemme talk to Ali for a minute and then I'll be over."

"Tell her I'll take you guys out for dinner later, if she wants. To a nice place."

* * *

"She wants flowers and chocolate," Bum says when Buster lets him into the apartment. "And dinner out."

"I can do that," Buster says. "You want a beer?"

"I fucking _need_ a beer. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Why does everyone think I don't know how to make up my own mind?" Buster asks with a scowl as he hands Bum a beer.

"I dunno, maybe because you called me and sounded really freaked out?"

"Yeah. Sorry, it's just that I had to work hard had to convince him I wanted it before we even left the restaurant."

"So did he?" Bum peers at Buster's neck.

"Yes. It won't show, you know. There's a thing they do that stops the bleeding and heals the bite." He can't help a small shiver as he remembers the quick brush of Tim's tongue when he licked the bite marks.

"Was it...fuck, do I even want to know?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

Bum pauses and drinks more beer. "Was it good?" he finally asks. "Was it what you wanted?"

"Yeah," Buster says with a smile.

"Was it worth it? This whole damn thing you've gone through last coupla months?"

"Half of what I was going through had nothing to do with him and everything to do with my big gay panic."

"How's that going?" Bum asks, the question not as sarcastic as it could be.

"Um, better? I mean without going into detail, I learned a thing or two about myself last night and it's mostly good."

Bum leans back and stretches his arm across the back of the sofa. "Jesus, Buster, let Ali help you buy some damn furniture. This is like the worst sofa ever. And it's ugly. I thought you people had better taste than the rest of us."

"Dude, don't you mean taste better?"

It takes Bum a couple of minutes and then he hits his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I didn't mean it that way...."

They grin at each other and then sit in silence for a while. Even though the arm chair isn't any more comfortable than the sofa, Buster feels better than he has since he left Tim's place.

"So, you gonna do it?" Bum finally asks. "The whole thing, I mean. Be his Companion?"

"See, that's where it gets complicated."

"No kidding. I looked some of it up but it's confusing."

"Why do you keep looking stuff up?"

"Because you're my fucking friend, you moron. I fucking worry about you, okay? Christ, it's like having a little brother."

"Oh," Buster says. "I....um...."

"Shut the fuck up," Bum says, his face a little red. "You got more beer in there?"

As he gets Bum another beer, it occurs to Buster that he can't just sit here and tell him everything. It's not like Tim asked Buster to keep any secrets, but he didn't really have to. It's nice, Buster thinks. Being trusted like that.

"There's stuff I can't talk about, but basically, if we get involved, like seriously involved, it's for a long time."

"How long? Does it have to be until he...well, you know. Turns you? Is that what you'd be getting into?"

"He didn't say anything about that, but he's had at least one Companion he didn't Turn, so I guess it doesn't always go that far. But there's a recovery period after a break up. Apparently it's like having mono for about six months."

Bum winces. "So that's why if you start up, it has to be for a long time. What's it...look, I don't know the entire rulebook by heart, but I don't think they'll like it much when guys get involved with the team's owner."

Buster hadn't even thought of that. "Yeah, I guess we'd have to keep it a secret for as long as we could. We didn't even get that far though." Buster looks at Bum's beer and thinks, fuck it. Once he's got a beer, he starts pacing. "He wanted me to go home and think it over."

"Does he know you're talking to me?"

"Yeah, it's okay. He said you have a level head on you." Buster turns and grins at Madison. "Which is totally fucking wrong."

"I have a very level head," Bum says. "If you don't think so, why'd you call me?"

It's way too tempting. "Because you're my fucking friend, you moron."

"Damn well better be, what with the stupid shit I put up with from you."

"Like me calling you to come over and tell me whether I'm in love or not?" The minute Buster says it, he winces. It's true, but once again, he feels kind of pathetic.

"Seriously?" Bum finishes his beer and immediately heads to the fridge for another. "Thank God you've got more than one six pack in there."

"God, I feel like an idiot. I don't even know what to fucking say."

"Hey," Bum says. He comes over and grips Buster's shoulder and for a minute, Buster really wants to just hug him. Because yeah, they're so huggy with each other, he thinks. "It's fucking weird and confusing, okay? No reason for you to have all the answers."

"Thanks," Buster says. He waits until Bum's settled on the sofa again before resuming his pacing.

"See," he finally says. "I know why people like having sex with vampires; it's fucking amazing." Ignoring the fact that he's blushing, he keeps talking. "But I don't know if what I'm feeling is just that or...."

"Do you want to spend time with him when you're not fucking?"

Buster thinks of breakfast and how comfortable he was sitting there with Tim, how he wasn't embarrassed even though he really plowed through his food. It was nice yesterday afternoon when they talked about baseball and history and why the Padres were going to tank. You could build a life around mutual friendship and hot sex, he thinks.

"Yeah." He's probably blushing again, dammit.

"Well then do that without any biting. Even vampires date, don't they?"

"Huh," Buster says. "I guess they do," he adds remembering what Tim said about the lover who liked Italian food. Was that the guy who moved to Chicago? Nate? Buster wonders how long ago that was, if Nate's dead now.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking moron," Bum says, interrupting Buster's train of thought. "I knew Ali for a couple years before I even got up the nerve to kiss her."

"Cut me some fucking slack, will you? Dating Kristen in high school wasn't the same thing at all. It always felt weird." Buster sips more of his beer.

"Honestly, I don't know why he didn't suggest it."

"I think dating was a little different in a fucking lumber camp a hundred-fifty years ago. And his last Companion was a dude; they probably kept it secret."

"Still," Bum says. "You're both fucking clueless."

"I guess," Buster says. "Maybe we could just see how the rest of the season goes. It's only, what, six weeks til the end of September?"

"You don't really think we'll be done in September, do you?"

"Shut the fuck up about that. Last time I thought that way was a couple weeks ago and look what we've done since then."

"You're so superstitious."

"Oh, like you aren't? You make such a big deal of making sure you never repeat what you eat before starts. Your whole anti-superstition thing is totally superstitious."

"No it isn't."

Buster laughs. "You keep telling yourself that." His stomach grumbles a little; Jesus is he still hungry? "C'mon," he says. "Let me take you and your better half out for dinner. When we pick her up, you can put on a decent shirt so we can go somewhere nice."

"What's wrong with my shirt?"

"It's a fucking Bass Pro Shop shirt, you hick."

When Bum stands up, Buster reaches out to punch him lightly on the arm. "Thanks for putting up with my stupid shit."

"You're lucky I'm so fucking awesome."

"Yeah," Buster says. "I really am."

* * *

Although it makes him feel kind of stupid--because shouldn't he be able to figure this out on his own?--Buster watches the way Bum and Ali act over dinner. They tease each other and occasionally laugh at stupid things that are obviously in jokes. Like the duck call, he thinks with a little smile. Mostly you can tell that they like each other, that they're good friends. And, from the way they look at each other from time to time, he'd know they had a good sex life even if Bum didn't brag about it all the fucking time.

They're good about not making him feel like a third wheel too. It's funny because he's a little older than both of them, but they seem to have decided he's their kid brother or something. It should feel weird, but Buster's been the oldest all his life and it's kind of nice to have people caring about him like that.

"You with us?" Ali ask when Buster stares off into the distance for a moment.

"Yeah," Buster says with a smile. "I am."

Once he's back at his apartment, Buster thinks about them and wonders if that's what he wants. Not their actual way of being with each other, because he and Tim would be different, just feeling comfortable like that with someone. It's what he was supposed to want with Kristen, probably what she wanted with him.

Does he want it with Tim?

When he dials Tim's number, Tim answers on the second ring.

"Um...hi," Buster says and then feels like an idiot. "Articulate as ever."

Tim laughs. "It's all right. I wasn't sure you were going to call tonight."

"Neither was I," Buster says, surprising himself. "I'm not sure what to think right now." Before Tim can say anything, Buster says, "wait."

"Okay."

"That's not a complaint," Buster says. "I'm not angry or upset or even hurt, I'm just trying to figure us out."

"You think there's an us?"

"I don't know." Buster swallows hard. "That thing we didn't say...look, I hate to be blunt, but are you in love with me?"

"It would be pretty easy for me to fall in love with you."

"Wow, that's diplomatic."

"And my family says I have no tact." Tim pauses. "I like you, Buster, and last night, you...you were fucking perfect."

"That's pretty much where I am," Buster says. "But we're talking about a long term thing. And I get your point from this morning; it needs to be based on more than that."

"One thing I like about you," Tim says with a little chuckle. "You're not a dumb jock."

"Bum tells me I am, although I think 'fucking moron' was how he put it. Actually, he thinks we're both ridiculously clueless about this whole thing."

"Oh?"

"He thinks we should date."

"Date? Isn't that something high school kids do?"

"Adults do it too, you know." Buster pauses. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When did you meet your last Companion?"

"During the War. World War Two, I mean. Nate was 4F--had a weak heart. We had a few business connections and when he needed a start up loan, we got to know each other." Tim pauses. "I see your point, of course. Nate and I didn't really date because we got to know each other through business and also because he didn't need people knowing he was gay.

"And before that...its a long story, but there was no actual dating before Yvonne became my Companion."

When Buster doesn't say anything, Tim says, "I'm all here, if that's what you're wondering."

"I don't want to be totally insensitive."

"I appreciate that." There's a pause. "Maybe we have been a little stupid about this."

"Let's go with clueless, I like that better," Buster says. "I dated in high school, but...."

"But?"

"It was weird. Last month, during the break, I came out to her. Um, her being my ex-fiancee, right?"

"You said a little about that last night."

"Yeah. It's part of what should have been the All American Baseball Player Story illustrated by Norman Rockwell.

"When I was in high school, I went out with this girl named Kristen. Beautiful, blond, my family loves her, she likes baseball, we would have had pretty babies and all of that thing. The only thing is, I kept putting it off. First it was college and money, then it was the minors and adjusting, then it was gonna be after my rookie year and then.... And then I went home last month and came out to her."

"That must have been hard."

"It was fucking awful, but I get the feeling she was almost, maybe, a little relieved. Because at least she knew it wasn't another woman, you know? She was pretty sweet about it; she's not going to out me or anything like that. Which is good because right now my mom and sister like her more than they do me."

"I take it your family doesn't know?"

"Aside from guys in bars, four people know--you, Bum n Ali, and Kristen." He almost drops the phone as something occurs to him. "Am I going to have to...I mean no one can know about us, right? Obviously Bum, but he hasn't even said anything to Ali. Will I need to find...I dunno, a lesbian model to date or something?"

Tim makes this...noise into the phone. It sounds a little like the snarl he made last night when he had his mouth pressed against Buster's skin; Buster feels a blush spread across his cheeks and he starts breathing a little faster.

"Sorry," Tim says. He takes a deep breath. "I don't know, but if you do, I'll find you someone." After another breath, he says. "My family--my vampire family I mean--they can know. But no one else. Vampires are a bunch of fucking gossipy queens, you have no idea. And me being involved with one of the best looking young men in baseball is way too good a story."

"Shut up; I am not," Buster says and then gulps hard. "Um...I...look it's what I say to Bum when he says I belong on a poster. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Yes, how dare you treat me like a friend," Tim says with a laugh. "Seriously, Buster, it's all right. I don't want you to always feel like you have to watch what you say and be on your best behavior and all that."

"Okay. I just...."

"It's like you calling me Tim. No one talks to me like that."

"I'll try," Buster says with a laugh.

"See that you do," Tim says.

They're silent for a moment and even though it's a phone call, Buster doesn't feel weird about it.

"I was talking about this with Bum, and he said it might be a good idea," Buster finally says. "Maybe we could spend time together--date or whatever--until the end of the season and then sort of see where things are." Before Tim can say anything, Buster adds: "And don't tell me our season might not end until October or even November."

"You ball players and your superstitions."

"It's not quite...okay, maybe it is, but I just don't want to count on it. Mostly because I don't want to play like it's a already done deal."

"You couldn't get complacent about your playing if you tried."

"I'm not perfect," Buster says. "I can be lazy."

Tim snorts. "Your lazy is everyone else's hundred percent."

"I...."

"You're blushing again."

"Damnit," Buster mutters. "Bet you don't need any secret vampire mind powers to know that."

"Didn't I tell you about the crystal ball? We get those with our duck calls."

Buster laughs along with Tim. "Good thing you didn't have it on you in Colorado that one night."

"Knowing what little I knew was enough. If I'd been able to see you...." Tim draws in a harsh breath. "You have no idea how much I want you right now."

Part of Buster wants to drop his phone on the floor, grab his keys and drive over to Tim's place. That one spot on his neck feels hot and maybe it's just his imagination, but he puts his fingers up there anyway. His pulse is racing and his jeans are suddenly way too tight and yeah, there it is--that strange, shivery almost afraid feeling.

"I wish," he says. "If...if you don't bite me would it still...."

"Right now, I'm not sure I could," Tim says. "We'd get started, and you'd smell too good and that along with the way you are for me...it would pull me in. And once I get my teeth in your throat, that'd be it." Buster bites back a moan and tries to just listen. "So, no, I wouldn't trust myself around you like this."

"Yeah me too. I wouldn't trust myself, I mean."

This time the silence that falls isn't comfortable at all. Buster keeps reminding himself that there are consequences, that living with someone for twenty years isn't something you decide because you're so hard it almost hurts. He tries to remember what Tim said, how splitting up is like having mono for six months. Not being able to....

"Um...." he says. "What about games? Because I know you said I wouldn't be able to play if we split later, but what about now?"

"You could play with me watching you before," Tim says, but he sounds worried. "Now, I don't know."

"Right now, the way we're playing, it'd be hard to tell."

"We'll get there," Tim says and how he can be so certain, Buster doesn't know. "If it's a distraction tomorrow, if you feel it's interfering with your play, then I'll come up with a reason to stop going to games."

"No, don't," Buster says. "I...it might be more distracting if you weren't there. I noticed it," he adds. "When you stopped watching me after that game in Milwaukee it felt weird." Another thought occurs.

"Is it cheating? You said it would make me healthier...if we were together I mean."

"You're asking if I'm some sort of PED? I don't think so. It won't make you stronger or give you more stamina or anything like that. You'll heal a little faster and you won't get sick as often, but like I said earlier, you're already in amazing shape. I honestly don't know if regular PEDs would help you or not."

"Did you know?" Buster asks, before he can stop himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck....

There's no way Tim can't figure out what Buster was asking and sure enough, he doesn't try to get Buster to clarify his question. In fact, he doesn't say anything for a long moment. Just when Buster's about to apologize profusely and swear he'll never ask again, Tim sighs.

"We all knew," he says. "Just like everyone knew about the greenies and the trips to Doctor Feel-Good in the Sixties. I'm not going to pretend that I sat in owners' meetings saying it was wrong like some voice of reason. For one thing, we didn't talk about it and if I had no one would have listened. And, well, I wanted to build a new park and make sure I could fill the seats. I'm pretty rich but I'm not made of money." He pauses and when he speaks again, he sounds sad, like he's telling a kid there's no Santa Claus. "Buster, everyone in baseball knew."

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I even...."

"Don't be. My only real regret is that it'll keep...a lot of good players from the Hall."

"Thanks for telling me. And for not naming names." He thinks about Tim's tone of voice. "And I'm not some innocent, you know. I know it still happens."

"People will always cheat in one way or another," Tim says. "Look at me. Vampires are the ultimate cheaters; when it comes to that one moment, when we're offered a choice, we all want to cheat death."

"You weren't very old," Buster says, wondering if this subject is any less difficult than talking about steroids.

"No, and I didn't do it for love either. But, you have to remember that, a hundred-fifty years ago, people died young. I saw a lot of people die and I cared about some of them." Before Buster can say anything, Tim continues. "Don't apologize. I'm not going to dump my whole life story on you at once, but, in the end, it came down to what it always comes down to for a vampire. I didn't want to die. Ever."

There are all kinds of questions floating around in Buster's head, but he doesn't ask any of them. Later, he thinks. When Tim feels like telling his story.

"Awkward?" Tim asks.

"No, just thinking," Buster says. "Sunday's a day game," he adds. "If we go to your Italian place for dinner, will anyone say anything?"

"No," Tim says. "Mariza and the rest of the family will keep my secrets a lot better than most vampires I know."

"So, it's a date?"

"I guess it is," Tim says with a laugh. "As long as it doesn't have the same results as it did last night."

"Was that really last night?" Buster says. "Seems like years ago."

"A lot's happened in twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, and most of it good."

"You think that?"

"Yes," Buster says. "I told Bum that I learned some things about myself last night. Good things."

"I'm glad you still feel that way. Do you remember telling me you trusted me?"

"Yeah. I meant it."

"I didn't say thank you at the time; I was a little preoccupied as I recall. But...thank you. It doesn't work without trust."

"Love?" Buster says, surprising himself. "Or vampire sex?"

"Both."

"Then it's a start." Buster waits to feel awkward, but it never happens. "Speaking of starts," he says after a moment.

"I'll come down to batting practice tomorrow," Tim says. "To see if it's a problem."

"I hope it isn't," Buster says. He laughs a little. "For more reasons than one."

"Oh?"

"A hardon's no fun when you're wearing a cup."

"Because I needed to think about you wearing a jock."

"Never mind batting practice," Buster says. "I just hope I make it through looking at the wall out in center."

"You and me both," Tim says. "Good night."

"Night, Tim."

Buster looks at his phone for a long moment after the call ends. Never mind the last twenty-four hours, he thinks. The phone call alone felt like it took a week. The more he gets to know Tim, the more he feels like he's getting to know himself. He's pretty sure it's a good thing, but it's a little unnerving.

* * *

Batting practice turns out to be almost anticlimactic.

"Will you quit hovering?" Buster mutters to Bum. "Because if you keep acting like this, I'm gonna worry about you roping me to get me out of his way."

"Kinky."

"Shut the fuck up."

They're both still laughing when Tim comes out onto the field.

"You okay?" Bum asks.

"Yeah, but it's not...when...I mean, there's a pull, I guess you'd call it. When we both want...no, sorry. Anyway, I'm good."

Pull or not, Buster's sure everyone's looking at him, but when he turns around, no one is. Most of the attention is focused on Tim who's chatting with Miller and Kruk at the moment. When he glances over at Buster and Bum he just gives them an impartial nod and goes back to his conversation.

Okay then, Buster thinks. His group's up now, so he grabs his bat and makes his way to the plate. During his turns, Tim stares hard at him a couple times. It's a little unsettling, but Buster's able to bat through it. So far, so good.

The game itself sucks. Kershaw has another shaky start and the offense can't even get a single hit. Buster goes 0-3 and he's almost grateful when Bochy has Fonetnot come in and pinch hit for him as part of a double switch. As with batting practice, he's aware of Tim a couple times, but he can't really blame his continuing slump on the vampiric duck call.

"Well, that was awful," he says when he calls Tim later that night. "But none of it was you."

"It'll get better," Tim says.

"Stop telling me that," Buster snaps "This isn't Little League and I don't need...fuck, I'm sorry. There's your rude."

"What don't you need?" Tim asks. He sounds more curious than angry or even annoyed.

"Platitudes," Buster says. "I know you know more about baseball than I do, and maybe the Padres don't have what it takes to get down the stretch, but maybe we don't either."

"Maybe we don't," Tim says. "But in spite of what everyone's putting on you, it won't be your fault if we don't. One player can inspire a team and even carry them for a while, but this isn't basketball. One player can't win a championship."

"No, I guess not."

"It's a little different in the bigs, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's putting it mildly." Buster stops to think for a moment. "I think up here is where you really learn what they're always telling you--it's a game of failure. I mean, I don't want to sound egotistical, but I'm finally facing guys who are as good or better at hurling a ball as I am at hitting one."

"Only a few of them are that much better. Advantage pitcher and all that."

"I wish you could play. Now I mean--the modern game." Buster blinks even as he says it; where'd that come from? "Without all your vampire super powers."

"I do too, although I'm a little small for it."

"Would you still pitch?"

"Yes," Tim says without hesitation. "It would be awesome to actually pitch, to try to deceive the hitter."

"You'd drive a catcher nuts because you'd want to control the whole game."

Tim laughs. "Probably. Although, who knows? If I weren't a vampire, maybe I wouldn't be such a control freak."

"Yeah, no. I can't imagine you letting someone else run things. Ever."

"If you asked everyone on the team, they'd say the same thing about you. And yet...."

"That's different," Buster says. "There's the show and then there's you."

"I know. And I appreciate that."


	6. Chapter 6

August 28, 2010 -- September 2, 2010

The next day's game is worse. Buster's sitting so he has a perfect view as Zito pitches poorly enough that he gets booed coming off the mound after the very first inning. He also has a perfect view of Bochy as the skipper gets more and more frustrated.

"It should be us in there," Huff says after the game. Everyone in the clubhouse is trying not to listen as Bochy goes off on the starters down in his office. Now they all turn and look at Huff. "Well, it should be. Not like we're fucking hitting. Dude goes out there and has a rough start, we should be fucking backing him up."

"He gave up six fucking runs in the first inning," Burrell says. "How the fuck are we supposed to...."

"We could try," Renteria says.

"Oh, that's fucking good coming from you," Burrell says.

"Hey, no," Uribe says, standing up and glaring at Burrell. "It's not his fault."

"Well, it's not my fucking...."

And suddenly, Buster's had enough. "Stop it," he yells, interrupting Burrell, who turns on him with a 'shut the fuck up, rook' expression. "No seriously, cut it out." Everyone's staring at him now and he's pretty sure Huff will haze the hell out of him in the next few days, but he doesn't care. "How is this," he gestures around the room, "helping anyone?"

"Howard Johnson's right," Schierholtz mutters.

"The fuck?" Burrell asks.

"No really, the kid's right. Huff's right. We need to fucking do better."

Buster's not sure if anything anyone said helped, but the next day, they get nine runs. And even more important, they pick up the pitchers when the bullpen melts down a little and costs Cain the win.

"I can't believe I said that," Buster says over dinner that night. He's just given Tim a very condensed version--without naming names--of what went on the the clubhouse. "I don't do that. Like, ever."

"Who else was going to?" Tim says. "You're the very soul of discretion, but if you'd told me what was said, I could probably tell you exactly who said it. And even without that, I can guess. Anyway, you're one of the few guys who could say anything."

"Am I telling you too much? Sometimes I forget you're the owner."

"I don't think you are." Tim pauses for a sip of wine. "The only hiring or firing decisions I make are the ones that involve me opening up my wallet. Sabean's the one who comes to me and tells me why we need to get this one guy or why we need to trade this other guy and send some money with him." He pauses and shakes his head a little.

"Well, that's not quite it. I don't totally take his word for it--I try to consider all the angles--but he's hardly ever wrong, so it comes down to pretty much the same thing. I'm not going to tell him to get rid of Burrell, for example, just because Burrell can be an asshole sometimes. For one thing, we knew that when we picked him up."

"I'm still not sure we should be having this conversation."

"Too much?"

"A little. Look, I know I'm going to hear stuff from you, but I have to play with these guys. The less I know about your hiring decisions, the better. And I don't want to be your ears in the clubhouse, even accidentally."

"Yet another thing I hadn't considered. I've never been involved with one of my players before."

Buster can't help smiling. Involved, he thinks.

They make it through dinner without any overt flirting, but then there's a pause in the conversation over coffee. Buster looks up after stirring the cream into his coffee and Tim's looking at him. In this light, Tim's eyes look darker than they are, just like they did in the dim light of Tim's bedroom.

"Oh," Buster says, licking his lips. "I...."

"Buster," Tim says at the same time. He leans forward and Buster does too, and there it is, that pull.

Then, as Tim reaches across the table, Buster pulls back. "We can't do this."

"No," Tim says. "We can't. I'm...."

"Don't," Buster says with a sigh as he leans back in his chair. "If you apologize...seriously, it kind of annoys me. You're not the only person feeling that way."

"I know," Tim says. "I'm just a little out of practice. This isn't how it usually goes for me."

"Oh?"

"Usually I pay for it."

It's not like Buster doesn't know about the escort services. It's not prostitution if the vampire only feeds, but Buster's pretty sure that law's broken all the time. All that's in the back of his head though--mostly he's trying to fight down a sudden rush of anger.

"It's all right. To be honest, I haven't since you came up. I've been making do with the bagged stuff." He doesn't sound entirely happy about that.

"Is it that awful?"

"It's not bad." Tim gives Buster a rueful smile. "It's like you going vegetarian. Not what I'm used to but it'll do." Before Buster can say anything, Tim shakes his head. "If I can't apologize, neither can you."

"Fair enough. I'd say we should shake on it, but if I start touching you now, I might not be able to stop."

"Mariza might be able to ignore a lot, but I only eat her cooking here."

Buster can't help laughing, but there's a question hovering in the back of his mind that he doesn't know how to ask. Finally, when they've finished their coffee and Tim's slipping a hefty tip in between the flower vase and the candle, Buster takes a deep breath.

"If I," he begins. "If I dream...I know it's not fair but I can't really help it."

"I might know if you do, but it won't change too much. For a real connection to be formed, I have to feed off you. Which I'm not going to do until we're sure of this. So, we can stare at one another, or you can dream, or one or both of us can do more than dream and it won't make a difference."

Buster's face is red--again--as he tries not to think about the bottle of lube sitting on his nightstand. "That's good to know."

As they both leave the table, they end up face to face in the narrow space between the table and the wall. "God," Buster mutters. "This is...."

"Yes," Tim says, his voice rough and low. "It really is."

And that's what Buster thinks about that night, lying in bed, his hand on his dick. They're not in the restaurant, but his back's to a wall, Tim's up against him, wiry strength pressing him into the wall and his fangs deep in Buster's throat. He's not even thinking about Tim fucking him; he comes imagining Tim's knee shoved between Buster's legs while Tim takes his blood.

It's strange, Buster thinks as he settles down to sleep. He's been bitten twice now, fucked once, and already he know the biting is more intimate than having someone's dick up his ass.

The next afternoon at batting practice, he gives Tim a rueful shrug and Tim just shakes his head. Buster wonders if Tim did anything last night, wonders if Tim does the same thing--jerks off thinking about feeding off Buster. Would he know, if they were together? Would he be able to feel it across town?

Although Sanchez pitches better than he has all month, they lose that day. Then Bum pitches well the next night, Buster goes 2-4 and they win. And suddenly it's not August any more. It's stupid to think that turning a page on the calendar will make a difference, but there are new faces in the dugout and things feel different.

And sure enough, Kershaw pitches a fucking gem on September 1; he goes eight innings and only gives up one hit. In the end though, the game is won by Darren Ford, just up from Fresno.

"It seems like years since I played in Fresno."

They're in LA and it's early evening with a day off ahead of them, but Buster's in his room on the phone with Tim. "We can't go anywhere in this town," Tim had said earlier. "Not safely. People are too good at spotting celebrities; it's practically a sport down here."

Now, Tim laughs a little. "It seems like you came up years ago, but really, bringing you up as late as we did makes me look cheap."

"Yeah, I heard some of that. It's okay; I know baseball's a business."

"Stop being so sensible. Seriously, I wonder if you're even real."

"Just the way I am, I guess. It's like when people talk about me being good looking, I can't help that. And I can't help being serious. Sometimes I wish I weren't, you know? I almost wish I could...." He literally clamps his teeth down because, wow, Tim does not need to know what he was about to say. Because every once in a while, Buster wonders what it would be like to take a hit or two off the pipe Zito passes around at room parties. When Burrell and Huff try to get him to do Jaeger shots with them, he occasionally thinks it might be nice to get completely wasted just for fun.

And then, every time he thinks it, he remembers offering to blow Bum that night in Milwaukee or he worries that he might say something about Tim if he got too drunk.

"If you could?"

"Let go and be more loose," Buster says. "Party a little more."

"Have you ever?"

"No," Buster says. "I've been drunk a few times, but you saw me at my worst."

"It's about control isn't it?" Tim says. "And giving it up."

"Yeah, I just can't. At least when I gave it up to you, I didn't have to worry about what I was saying."

"I keep thinking about what you did say." Tim's voice is low and a little rough, and Buster shivers; it's like Tim's really there and not a voice coming from Buster's iPhone.

"Other than 'please?'"

"Oh, I think about that too."

"Jesus," Buster mutters. "What floor are you on?"

"Buster...."

"I know, I know," Buster says. "But there you go; you wanted me to not be sensible."

"You'd stop halfway up here."

"Yeah, I probably would. And if I didn't, you'd politely but firmly turn me down."

"Yes, I probably would."

"God," Buster mutters. "We're so responsible."

"It's a big chunk of your life we're talking about here." Tim sighs. "I want you, yes. But I also want you to be happy. If you were with me and you came to regret it and resent me...I wouldn't be able to stand it."

"I...oh." Buster feels like an idiot. "I uh...if I turned to be different than you expected and you felt obligated to stay with me...I'd hate that."

That night, Buster doesn't jerk off; Tim's too close and anyway, he's mulling over their conversation. Everyone always talks about how mature he is and even Tim thinks he's so level-headed. Sometimes Buster wants to remind people that he's only twenty-three, that there's no way he's done growing up. What if one evening, five years from now, Tim were to look over at him and wonder what the hell he'd been thinking, taking Buster on like that.

No, that's stupid. People grow up in relationships all the time. Yeah but, he tells himself. When people grow in different directions and stay together for whatever reason, it's usually a disaster. Like it would have been with Kristen if he'd kept lying to her. And even with bad marriages that last too long there's always an out. But, unless Buster is able to take a year off, fake an illness or something, there wouldn't be an out for them.

And how would Tim feel then, not only as Buster's ex, but as the owner of the team Buster plays for? As bad as it would be for Buster, he knows that Tim would feel worse. No matter how many times Buster tells him that this isn't all on him, Buster already knows Tim would take it all on himself. It'd be a fucking mess.

Why, Buster wonders just as he falls asleep, does he keep trying to talk himself out of something he hasn't even committed to?

He's still a little unsettled when he wakes up. He's supposed to be doing something touristy with Bum and Kershaw, but that's later; Bum refuses to get up early on off days. Buster kind of wants to call Tim again, but instead he finds himself looking at his list of contacts.

It's already ten in Georgia and he knows his mom won't be teaching until next week, so he's pretty sure she'll be alone in the house. Maybe, he thinks as he waits for her to pick up, that's why he chose now to call.

"Honey," she says. "It's good to hear from you. You're in LA this week?"

For a moment, he thinks of just talking to her about his off day plans and baseball and giving her a chance to talk to him about the family. She's sort of forgiven him for breaking up with Kristen, or at least he thinks so judging by the last couple of calls and email exchanges. Should he really....

"Yeah; we have an off day today." He takes a deep breath. "I called because I...I need to talk to you."

"Is something wrong?"

How do people do this? He's never read much about coming out or, really, about being gay at all. And so, because it's the only way he can think of, he just says it. "No. I just...I'm gay." Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe.

"Oh," she says flatly. "So, Emma was right."

"What?" This is not the reaction he expected. "Aunt Emma?"

"Well, you know," his mother says. "Living up in Atlanta, she meets...different people. When you and Kristen broke up, she thought maybe...." She trails off and he hears her gulp in a deep breath. He waits while she tries to keep it together, but all he can think of is how she looked when his grandpa died. How she managed not to break down and cry because she didn't want her children to be even more upset than they already were.

"Momma," he finally says. "I shouldn't have told you. Not like this." God, Bum's right; he's such a fucking moron. "I'm sorry. I'm so...."

"Don't be," she says. Her voice is shaky, but she's still not crying. "Don't be. You're my boy and you need to be able to tell me things. It must have been," she pauses to catch another breath. "It must be hard for you."

How, he wonders, does she do this? It's not like he can't tell how upset she is, but she's worried about _him_?

"It has been. I feel...God, I hated lying to everyone. Kristen, you, Daddy...." And now his voice is shaky, because it's true.

"For a while, I tried not to be. I really did."

"I don't think...does it work that way?"

"No," he says. "It was just making me and Kristen miserable and she deserves better."

"So she knows?" Before he can answer she says, "When you broke things off, I wondered if you'd met someone else. Did...have you?"

And here he is, lying again. But it feels different; he's not just protecting himself. "No."

"Then how do you know? I mean, are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He almost breaks into nervous laughter, because what's he going to tell her? He knows because he's had anonymous hookups in a dozen gay bars? He knows because he let a vampire fuck him? "I'm sure," he says again.

She's silent for a long time and then she sighs. "When I came up pregnant with you, I stopped smoking. I kind of wish I hadn't because I could sure use a cigarette right now."

Buster's heard that before and it's weirdly comforting; it's what pretty much she said when she caught him sneaking into the house drunk on cheap beer after a bonfire and also that one time the deputies caught Sam half naked in Eddie's truck.

"Are you...are you okay?" she asks. "Are you telling me because...does anyone else know?"

"Just Bum--Madison Bumgarner," he says and winces, because there's another lie. "You met him that time in Atlanta."

"The boy with the ears; I remember."

"Yeah, him and his wife. No one else on the team, though. And it's not like it's gonna be in the papers or anything. I just...I wanted you to know."

"It's good you felt like you could tell me." She sighs again. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Buster--it's hard to hear, but I know it took a lot for you to call me. And I'm glad you did."

"I kept thinking I'd tell you after the season, but I knew I'd just keep putting it off. I hurt Kristen pretty bad doing that and I didn't want to do that to you." He takes a deep breath. "Or Dad. I don't know, should I talk to him or wait?"

"Oh dear," she says. "I don't think he'll be...well, too upset. You better let me talk to him though. You know how he is about feelings."

She's right. Buster's never doubted that his dad loves him, but once Buster hit junior high, they stopped saying it to each other. Manly men, he thinks.

"Tell him I haven't changed. The way I act when I'm not at home, I mean."

"I will. I can't imagine you getting all swishy."

"I'll email Sam," he says. "Let her hear it from me."

"I think she'll take it all right," his mother says. "I mean, she plays college softball."

Buster can't even think about telling Jack, let alone Jesse. How do you tell a fifteen year old kid that the brother he always looked up to is queer? "The boys," he says. "I'll leave that up to you. If you think I should, I'll write to them."

"Let me talk to your father first. See how that goes."

"Okay. But what about you?" he asks. "Don't...if you're mad, be mad, okay? I know it's a lot to handle."

"I'll be all right. You're still my boy," she says. "And I still love you."

"I love you too, Momma."

"Good. Now you go out there and have a good game tomorrow, you hear me, honey?"

"I'll try."

"Don't let those Dodgers be spoilers. I want to see you play in the postseason."

"We're giving it our best shot."

He expected to feel a lot better, to feel like a load's lifted off his shoulders, but apparently it doesn't work like that. Maybe if he'd said, "also, I'm thinking of becoming a vampire's Companion" and took care of all the lies of omission he'd feel better, but he's pretty sure that wouldn't go over well. He thinks of his dad, and how, as much as he wanted to see Buster get drafted in 2008, he still tried to give Buster an out. Not because he wanted Buster to make sure he was ready for it, but because he wasn't sure about Buster playing for Tim's team.

Someday, he thinks. When they're used to him being gay and he's able to prove that he and Tim can be discreet.

Goddamnit, but between trying to talk himself out of this and thinking about it like it's already a done deal, he's getting dizzy.

His phone rings and he can't help heaving a sigh of relief when he sees it's Bum.

"Wanna get some coffee," Bum mumbles. "Like lots of it...n some food."

"It's still early," Buster says. "Why are you even up?"

"'Cos fucking Kershaw's a freaky morning person and he just banged on my fucking door. Gonna kill him...after coffee and maybe some bacon. Yeah, lotsa bacon."

Kershaw knocks on Buster's door next, and he smiles when he's sees that Buster's up and dressed. "What's Bum's deal? It's already eight."

"He says it's because he's a growing boy."

"He grows any more," Kershaw says. "He'll need a whole new uni by the end of the year. Seriously, he makes me feel short."

"Tell me about it," Buster says. "Also, I understand he's going to kill you."

"I'm terrified," Kershaw says. "See? Shaking in my shoes."

"I can tell."

Buster likes Kershaw and is a little surprised that he's apparently decided to take both Bum and Buster under his wing. It's how the clubhouse splits up, Buster supposes. The party guys, the Latin guys and the good ol' boys. On some teams it might be a problem, but Buster thinks a few more wins will see them start pulling together. He's not sure how he knows; it's just a feeling. Or maybe it's Huff's fucking thong. You never know, he thinks.

They end up going to the Santa Monica Boardwalk, which is more fun than Buster expected. Every once in a while someone will walk past them and do a bit of a double take and one guy in a Dodger cap scowls at them.

"Y'all have a nice day," Bum calls out as the guy walks away.

"Ownage is ownage," Buster says, although he waits until the guy's out of earshot. It's true, though; Kershaw totally owns the Dodgers.

"Cut it out," Kershaw mutters. Most guys would say "cut it the fuck out" but Buster's never ever heard Kershaw swear. In a clubhouse where even Buster uses "fuck" like it's just another adjective, he stands out.

It's a good day, even though they have to talk Bum out of renting a surfboard.

"I could totally do that," he says, watching the surfers. "It's just balancing."

"Yeah, you could totally fall on your butt," Buster says. "Besides, you can't. It's in our contracts."

"Probably Zito's fault," Kershaw says. "Too bad," he adds. "It looks like fun."

"If you two stripped down to board shorts, you'd blind all of Santa Monica," Buster says. "Better not risk it."

"Because you don't glow in the dark." Bum nudges him hard in the ribs with his elbow.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one who wants to surf."

They stay out most of the day, stopping at the mall to do some shopping, before Kershaw buys them dinner at a fancy seafood place. It's a nice gesture; Buster's noticed he's always willing to pick up the tab. He's the right kind of veteran, Buster thinks. Buster could do a lot worse than to follow his example. Well, except maybe the swearing--Buster's not sure he could stop that. And of course, Buster's weird thing with the owner. Come to think of it, maybe he won't end up being that much like Kershaw after all.

"So, remember how I said I didn't want to snitch on people?" Buster says to Tim during their evening phone call.

"Yes. What wild times did you three get up to?"

"Bum and Kershaw wanted to surf."

Tim snorts. "Seriously? You should have let them and filmed it. Watching those two flail around would have been hilarious. And anyway, the surf's pretty mild at Santa Monica; I'd worry more about sunburn than wipe outs."

"You're not a very responsible owner," Buster says, trying to sound disapproving.

"I'm terrible."

They both laugh and then Buster starts talking about the Dodgers and about how he's a little worried about Billingsly. Tim listens for a while, occasionally adding a comment.

"Buster," he finally says two or three minutes in. "What aren't you talking about here?"

"I came out to Mom," Buster says and the words come out quickly, like he was just waiting for Tim to ask. 

"I assume it went moderately well?"

"How...."

"I know you. You wouldn't have gone out and had a good time if it hadn't."

"True." Buster sighs. "She's upset, of course. But I haven't been disowned or anything. And she sounds like she wants to come around and accept it. She even said she'd talk to Dad about it so I don't have to right off the bat. It could have been a lot worse."

"You don't sound so sure."

"No, it's not that. It's...I'm still lying to them. She asked if I'd met someone and I said no. And I know it's not just me I'm protecting and I'm fine with that. Do you think, maybe somewhere along the line I could tell them? I mean if we do."

"Of course you could. They're your family; if you felt they were ready, I wouldn't have any problems with you talking to them."

"Oh. I wasn't sure." Buster looks at his phone and tries not to sigh again. If he were actually upstairs with Tim, he'd reach out and touch him, just hand to hand, to say thank you.

"Strange that we both made the call today," Tim says after a moment. "I was delaying telling you too."

"You...you talked to your Sire about me?" Buster swallows hard.

"No, my Grandsire. It's like a lot of human families from what I've seen. We tend to get on better with our grandparents than our parents."

"Who is...can you tell me? It's not listed on your page or on your Sire's page."

"My Line is," Tim pauses. "It's short and it's one direct Line, Great-Grandsire, Grandsire, James and then me. No branches."

"So they're all kind of young?"

"The opposite."

Tim doesn't say anything for a long time and finally Buster says, "it's okay. And anyway, I wouldn't recognize any names." Maybe he should be upset, but he's not. Tim's just one vampire and Buster can--mostly--get his head around that. That he's part of a family of vampires is different and still a little weird.

"Yes," Tim says, his voice quiet. "You would. My Great-Grandsire is the German."

"Oh." Because of course Buster knows who the German is. Pretty much everyone on the planet knows who The German is. The Oldest, he thinks, because that's one of the other the titles he remembers from the history books. He's not quite sure what to make of the revelation, because really, talk about weird.

"Yes, oh. And here I am, a hundred and fifty and because vampire etiquette is fucking strange, I...out rank, if you will, a lot of vampires who are much older than me."

"Is that why you're here? In San Francisco I mean. Because you were the first after the Earthquake so it's kind of your city?"

"Pretty much." Tim sounds a little surprised; Buster's not sure why. "I'm not at all territorial...well I am, but I tend to regard my territory as wherever the team calls home. I'd say AT&T is just about the smallest territory any vampire has." Tim laughs a little. "But yes, vampires who come to San Francisco are coming into my space. I don't have to be somewhere like New York or even here in LA, where I upset the order of things. Or London where you can't fucking turn around without meeting another vampire."

"That sounds complicated." Buster thinks about what he's read in the last week or so and it suddenly hits him. As Tim's Companion, he'd be a part of this world; he'd have some kind of status. "It's me, isn't it?" he says. "I mean one of the reasons you don't want other vampires to know is to...what, protect me from politics? From vampire society?"

"Yes. I'm a pretty lazy excuse for a vampire; I don't get involved in politics and I really hate society. It's all posturing and ancient feuds that never die and subtle or not so subtle digs at one another. There are some vampires, mostly younger ones, worth spending time with but for the most part? I'd rather not have people all but pat me on the head and talk like you--the team, I mean--are a toy I'll grow out of."

"That's got to be pretty awful." Buster can't imagine anyone being like that with Tim, but he keeps forgetting that Tim's still young.

"It is. And it's not that I'd be embarrassed to be seen with you, but do you really want to be referred to as Timothy's pet ball player?"

"With all the connotations that go along with 'pet'? No, not really. I'd rather just play ball."

"I figured you'd say that." Tim pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry, Buster, but I'm kind of a coward. I should have told you about my Line right away."

"Did you think it would freak me out?"

"Has it?"

"If we...will they think I'm just your pet ball player?"

"No," Tim says, right away, like he doesn't even have to think about it. "James isn't interested in sports at all, and he thinks a baseball team is a very poor investment. Benjamin, my Grand-Sire, sponsors F1 drivers; he says baseball is incredibly boring. On the other hand, my Great-Grandsire keeps tabs on how the team is doing. Or at least he has someone keep him informed. He'll even mention the occasional game when we talk."

"Wait," Buster says. "Let me get this straight. The oldest vampire in the world watches our standings? Follows the Giants?"

"He's...it's weird. He's seems so remote, you know? He stays up there in the mountains and lets the Council run things and almost every vampire in the world is afraid of him."

"Substitute 'everyone' for 'every vampire.'" Buster says.

"Except us," Tim says with a little laugh. "I mean he's not some kind of jolly old grandpa or anything, but he takes an interest in what we do and it means something to him because that we're part of his Line. I was sure...I mean, come on. A poorly educated, scrawny lumberjack from a tiny settlement on the edge of America? I was sure I wasn't going to measure up. I'd been a vampire for thirty years before we made the trip and I was so terrified the whole way I hardly noticed that we were crossing the fucking ocean.

"And then there we were and we were talking and I pretty much blurted it out--all that about being a nobody. He just laughed and told me that my Sire had been a nobody, a groom--with horses, you know? And Benjamin was a deserter from the Thirty Years War and that he himself had been a hunter in a tiny tribe up in the mountains. No great generals, no daughters of Emperors, no Roman princes, just...four dudes."

"Okay, he did not say 'dudes.'"

Tim laughs. "No that's me. The evil influence of too much TV. But my point is, he saw something in Benjamin and so he assumes that Benjamin saw something in James and that James saw something in me. Honestly, I don't know about that. Benjamin's a scary-smart security expert and James is an engineer and investor and me? I own a baseball team. Which is awesome for me, but...."

"You make vampires approachable," Buster says, surprising himself. "It's not that we're not afraid of you, because of course we are. But you're not all mysterious and distant. It's not just the team that knows you take BP with us, you know. I saw a clip of it on ESPN the other day. And who can really hate a vampire who goes to ball games and eats hot dogs and garlic fries?"

"If I could blush," Tim says.

"I'm trying to imagine it, but no. That's my thing." Buster laughs. "But really, we take some shit for it--for you--on the road, you know that, right? But it's good in a weird way. If people were really that afraid of you, fans in other towns wouldn't make signs calling us bloodsuckers and pets, and stuff like that time in Philly where someone threw a silver necklace into the outfield wouldn't happen."

"Huh. I always felt guilty about that, like I make it harder for the team."

"Yeah well, because we're from San Francisco they call us fags too. And it's not like our fans don't get into it; just imagine what it's like to be the Dodgers and come in and face Kershaw or Cainer on a Friday night with forty-two thousand people screaming 'Beat LA" and that's when they're being polite."

"There is that. Every time DeWitt goes on about how St. Louis fans are the best fans in baseball, I just laugh at him."

"Cardinals fans? Oh please."

They fall silent and, as usual, it's comfortable, even on the phone like this.

"Each time we talk," Buster finally says. "I feel like...I feel different. Even if it's just chatting about stuff, I always feel like I'm not the same person I was before I picked up the phone." He runs a hand through his hair. "That's not it, exactly. More like I'm not just learning about you. And tonight...thank you. For telling me about your family."

"Of course. And you are learning about me, by the way. No one's ever figured out why I chose San Francisco; or at least figured it out that quickly."

"It just made sense."

Neither of them, Buster realizes as he gets ready for bed, talked about sex. Usually they have at least one moment, but tonight, even after they went back to more normal topics, it didn't happen. The annoying thing was having to hang up; Buster could have spent the rest of the night talking about anything and everything.

He's still not sure what to make of the revelation about Tim's family. He doesn't know much more about The German except that he's the only vampire allowed to govern a country--a tiny place up in the mountains somewhere near Germany, if Buster remembers it right. And that he's been alive for something like thirty-five hundred years. Now, Buster knows that he follows the Giants. 

Wow, he thinks. Talk about weird. It's not just that the oldest vampire in the world is, sort of, a Giants fan, but he must know who Buster is. What would he think if he knew Tim was talking about taking Buster as a Companion?

Which, of course, brings him back around to the question at hand.

He really doesn't want to think about that now; he's tired of examining every conversation he and Tim have from every possible angle. He still wants to have those conversations, he just doesn't want the will he/will he not thing going on. It's all his own fault, Buster tells himself. He's the one who suggested they should just do this thing with the phones and the dating and the not fucking. And he knows why it's a good idea, but it doesn't make the whole thing any easier.

Fuck it, Buster thinks. It's the Dodgers tomorrow in a series they have to win and here he is worrying about his relationship issues. He needs to relax and gets some sleep and there's one sure way to do that. Maybe he shouldn't but....

Fuck it, he thinks again.

Even as he stretches out naked on his bed, Buster's acutely aware that Tim's only a few floors above him, probably in one of the penthouse suites. He wonders how much Tim will know about what Buster's doing, how much Tim will feel. When Buster mentioned that night in Colorado, Tim had assumed Buster was dreaming. Tonight, Buster thinks, Tim will know what's going on. And that? That's hot.

Still, it's a little weird, doing it slow like this without having had at least a few beers first. Buster tries not to think too much about what he's doing as he drags a hand down his neck, fingers grazing the spot where Tim bit him. He shivers and presses at his pulse point for a moment and it's like he can feel it through his whole body, an faint of echo of the way it felt when Tim actually took blood from him. For a moment the urge to get up, pull some clothes on and head up to Tim's suite is strong, but he fights it and stays right where he is.

Moving his hand down, he rests it on his chest and rubs a thumb across his nipple. He catches his breath; he's always surprised at just how fucking sensitive he is. Then again, it's not like he pays a lot of attention to his nipples, for God's sake. But tonight it's early and he can do this all night if he wants. He moves his thumb again and it's good, but not as good as it gets once he pinches himself. "Oh fuck...fuck..." He does it again and then again until it almost hurts. Even after he stops, he's breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his hand.

What would it be like if Tim did that--played with Buster's nipples--while he bit him? Buster's pretty sure he'd come from it, even now, just thinking about it, he's already really fucking hard. Then again, he could probably come just from Tim feeding off him. Maybe that's something that happens after a while.

Keeping one hand on his chest, he slides the other down, tracing the trail of hair that leads down from his navel. Avoiding his cock, he rests his hand on his hip, on the same spot Tim rested his hand that night. Just before I said please, Buster thinks. Just before one of the times he said please--because he said it all fucking night.

"Please," he says into the silence of his room. It's not the same, of course, but he can't help remembering the feeling of falling, of being so far out of his depth that he had to trust Tim would keep him from crash landing. "Please," he murmurs again, digging his fingers into his hip.

He wants to do more, but he holds off as long as he can, letting the need build up. He likes waiting and that's new; before he always tried to get this over as soon as possible so he could go back to pretending he wasn't gay. But now he can imagine being sprawled out on Tim's bed, waiting for it. What would he do, he wonders, if Tim really made him wait? Tim liked hearing him say please and how big a step is it, going from saying please a few times to really begging for it? Could he do that? Just thinking about it makes his stomach tense up.

Buster glances over at the nightstand, at the bottle of lube he put there earlier.

Over the last couple weeks, he's gotten a little more used to touching himself...there. But it's still weird and more than a little awkward, and it still kind of freaks him out. It seemed almost dreamlike when Tim did it; by the time Tim started getting Buster ready, Buster was pretty far gone. Now, doing it alone in his quiet hotel room, Buster's a lot more embarrassed than he was that night.

Not that that stops him.

It's just so fucking awkward, he thinks as he slowly presses a finger in. He can't help wondering if it would be easier if he had...something. He's never even seen a sex toy in real life but he saw a dude using a dildo on himself in a porno once. At the time, he'd stopped the video because it made him feel weird, but now, he can see the advantage of having something like that.

What the fuck? He pauses and scowls. Why is he even considering getting a toy when there's a guy in his life with a real dick who wants to fuck him?

He takes a deep breath and tries to get back to the matter at hand, but the moment is one and so's his mood. With a sigh, he gets out of bed to go wash up.


	7. Chapter 7

September 3, 2010

Buster's still grumpy the next morning; he has to make a concerted effort to get his game face on before he gets on the team bus. Tim glances at him once during BP, but Buster ignores him. Near as Buster can tell, Tim only vaguely pays attention to the game; he spends most of it chatting with Pam Baer.

Not that the game is worth watching; it's a sad sort of game in which the opposing pitcher gets the same number of hits and RBIs that Buster does--one hit and two RBIs. Thing is, the Dodgers get two more RBIs after that and the Giants don't. Zito takes the blame like the pro that he is, but be that as it may, they're still three games behind the Padres.

"Fucking Dodgers," Huff says after the game. "They can't fucking make it so they wanna spoil it for us."

"Assholes," Burrell agrees.

Buster can't help nodding, because they're right. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow, Cainer's on the mound and things will be better.

To his surprise, Tim echoes Huff, only without the profanity.

"I'm sick and tired of the Dodgers being spoilers," Tim says during their evening call. "It gets old."

"Well," Buster says and then pauses.

"What?"

"Tonight wasn't just on them." Buster doesn't add what he wants to say, which is that it would have been nice if the Giants had gotten more than two runs. Seeing as he was responsible for batting in those two runs, it would sound like whining about his teammates.

"True. A little more run support for Zito would have been good."

"Stop it," Buster says, scowling at his phone. "I thought you couldn't read my mind."

"I can't," Tim says and now he sounds serious. "Or I'd know what I did to annoy you last night."

"What? Oh...." Buster's face feels hot. "That wasn't you; it was me. I just...."

Tim remains silent.

"Us only talking and dating was a stupid idea. It's all Bum's fault."

"Remind me to trade him."

In spite of himself, Buster laughs. "That's a new reason for trading someone--got in the way of the owner's sex life."

"You'd be surprised. I can't remember who it was, someone on the Reds, I think. He got traded after his wallet mysteriously showed up on the manager's wife's dressing table one morning."

"Seriously?"

"Well, it might be an baseball legend."

There's a pause in the conversation as Buster tries to figure out how to explain last night.

"I didn't expect it would be this difficult," Tim finally says.

"Yeah," Buster says. "Neither did I." He takes a deep breath. "Okay, let me try to actually talk about this."

"Take all the time you need."

"For some reason...um...last night, I was thinking about how awkward it was...using...um my fingers, right?" He sighs and wishes his face didn't feel like it was on fire. "Fuck it. I thought maybe having something, like a toy or something, would be easier."

"That is...." Tim takes a deep breath. "That's a hell of a thought."

"Yeah, well, it pissed me off." Buster winces because he sounds angrier than he really is. "Because what the fuck am I doing thinking that when...when you're just upstairs? I don't need...."

"Don't need what?" Tim asks when Buster doesn't finish his sentence.

"I don't need this distraction." The moment he says the words, Buster takes a deep breath, startled at how relieved he feels, how good it feels to say that. He opens his mouth to apologize and then stops, because no, he's not sorry. Then agian....

"Don't," he says, cutting Tim off. "Don't apologize. I know that came out of nowhere, but it did for me to. I didn't plan on saying it."

"All right, but I have to ask: what do you need? To get through the rest of the season, I mean. Should we not talk like this? Would it be easier if you didn't...?" He trails off, but Buster can guess what he was about to say.

"I'm twenty-three," Buster says dryly. "If I don't, I'll just dream and that gets messy."

Tim's laughter is immediate and genuine and Buster can't help laughing with him because yeah things are weird, but the whole thing is also pretty ridiculous. "It's been," Tim says, still chuckling. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, I guess it has. Look," Buster says. "This is on me. I need to learn how to deal with distractions down the stretch."

"I tend to forget that you're a rookie."

"All the beat writers and their hype about how mature I am don't help." Buster rolls his eyes. "And I'm not gonna go out there and act like a little kid, but this is...it's been a long time since the Giants made it and I don't want to screw it up."

"Buster," Tim says. "Remember what I told you? If we don't make it, it won't be anything you didn't do. We wouldn't have a chance without you."

"And Kershaw," Buster says, trying to ignore a little thrill of pride. "And Sanchez--both of them--and Wilson and Ross and Burrell and Huff along with his thong and everyone else. I've carried teams before," he adds. "And it's not like this is. This is all of us."

"Which is why we'll make it." Before Buster can say anything, Tim continues. "I know you're ridiculously superstitious, but we're going to make the playoffs at the very least."

"I know," Buster says, meaning it. "I worry about getting through it all."

"Don't." Tim probably doesn't mean it to sound like a command or an order or something, but it does. "That's Boch's job. Your job is to go out there and make it happen."

"But no pressure."

"I didn't say there wasn't any pressure. I told you not to worry about the future. You just told me it's not all you. And you're right, so stop carrying it all on your shoulders."

"Yeah, but for me, that's easier said than done."

"I know." Tim sounds a little frustrated, which Buster can certainly sympathize with. "Just...Buster, tell me what you need from me."

Buster sighs, not sure how to answer. He wants to say he doesn't need anything, but that's not true. In spite of what he said earlier, he doesn't want to try to figure this out on his own. He doesn't, he realizes, want to do this--any of this--alone. Not without Tim. "I don't know," he says. "I just...fuck. I don't know."

"Okay," Tim says, as if Buster gave him an actual answer. "Hang on."

Buster stares at his phone, which is telling him the call's ended--like he couldn't tell from the silence. The fuck?

He's just tossed the phone onto his bed when someone knocks on the door. It's got to be Tim, he thinks, and sure enough, Tim's out in the hall.

"I'll leave," Tim says quickly. "If you want me to."

Buster should tell him to go, but that's not going to happen.

"I...." He steps back and lets Tim into the room. Tim comes in, but only far enough so that the door can close behind him. He doesn't say anything; he's just standing there looking at Buster. Waiting, Buster realizes, for Buster to decide how this is going to go.

"I don't want," Buster says. "God, I'm so tired of being alone." Once again tonight he's surprised himself and, from the look on his face, he's startled Tim as well.

"Yes," Tim says. "Me...me too."

For a moment Buster feels a little foolish. He's not sure when Tim and Nate split up, but it was a long time ago, even for a vampire. But no, he thinks. Just because it hasn't been that long for Buster, he's still been alone for years now.

"This," he says, stepping forward. "Is stupid."

"What is?" Tim stays where he is. "Being alone? Or being together?"

"Yes," Buster says with a little laugh. "Being together down the stretch like this would be really fucking stupid."

"True."

Buster swallows hard. "Being alone down the stretch, though, that's worse."

"Even more true." Finally--God, finally--Tim's stepping forward. "I won't ask you if you're sure, but...."

"But you really want to." They're close now--close but not touching. "It's okay," he says, finding it odd that he's the one doing the reassuring. "It'll be okay." And it will, he thinks. This is what he wants--Tim is what he wants.

Just as Buster wonders if he's gone too far, if maybe he's pushing too much, Tim reaches out and grabs the collar of Buster's shirt. "Say it," he says.

"Please," Buster says, closing his eyes as the tension leaves him. "Tim, do it...take it...please."

Before Buster's even sure how it happened, his back's against the wall. When Tim lets go of his collar, Buster opens his eyes. He's just in time to see the shift--the moment when Tim becomes the predator. "Please," Buster murmurs again. He tilts his head back even as Tim's sliding his fingers into Buster's hair. "Tell me," Buster says, not really sure what he wants to hear.

"I can feel it," Tim says as he presses his mouth against Buster's neck. "Feel your pulse...feel the blood moving under your skin." He pauses and scrapes his teeth--his fangs--across Buster's neck. "Feel how much you want it."

Before Buster can agree--because God, he does want it--Tim's fangs are slicing into his throat. It's quick this time, just a tiny hurt before his blood begins to flow. The only connection that matters is Tim's mouth against his skin, Tim's fangs buried in his vein; Buster barely notices when Tim presses his hand against the front of Buster's jeans. Right now, all Buster knows is that he wants to stay here forever, wants to feel the thud of his own pulse and the indescribable sensation of Tim taking what he needs from Buster.

Coming is almost an afterthought.

"God," Tim murmurs as he licks the puncture marks. "You're so...."

"Mmmmm...." Buster knows Tim barely took anything, but he still feels boneless and a little dazed.

"You want me to sweep you off your feet? Or can you walk to the bed?"

Deciding that Tim carrying him would be just a little too weird, Buster pulls himself together. "I'll walk."

By the time he sits down on the bed, Buster's head has cleared up a little. "Let me," he says, reaching for Tim.

"You should probably get out of your jeans first," Tim says. "I was a little too distracted to get them unzipped before I got you off."

Tim's still dressed and still standing looking down at Buster once Buster's naked. Buster can see the bulge at the front of Tim's jeans and he knows exactly what he wants to do about it. "Sit down," he says patting the bed next to him.

"You're playing tomorrow," Tim says as he sits down. "I can't...."

Buster rolls his eyes and slips off the bed to kneel in front of Tim. "I know that," he says, his fingers busy with Tim's fly. "Trust me, I can do this and still play."

"Well then, feel free."

When Buster looks up, his breath catches in his throat. Tim looks content--he's smiling, his eyes are half closed, and there are two dull red patches on his cheeks. That's because of me, Buster thinks.

"What?" Tim asks. Reaching down, he rests a hand on Buster's cheek. His hand is hot and it feels good against Buster's skin. For a moment, Buster wants to just lean into his touch and sit like that for a long while.

"Just...nothing," Buster says and turns his attention back to getting Tim's pants off.

Buster's wanted to do this for months now, but instead of leaning in and just going for it, he takes his time. Tim's cock feels good in his hands and, Buster thinks with a mental smile, it's a less intimidating than it was the other night. He runs his finger right under the head and Tim makes a soft little noise. Tim's a little louder when Buster rubs the same spot a little harder with his thumb.

"Tease," Tim says, his voice husky.

"Me?" Buster looks up, his eyes wide. He pauses and then licks his lips, lingering a little on his bottom lip.

"You."

Buster licks his lower lip again and then bends down, resting his hands lightly on Tim's thighs. Tim's skin is still hot and Buster can't help wondering what he feels like when he's really fed, when he's taken more than a quick mouthful or two. Someday, Buster will find out. For now, though....

Tim's hands come to rest on Buster's shoulders as Buster slowly lowers his mouth down over Tim's dick. Buster's not even really sucking at this point but he can feel the muscles in Tim's thighs go tight, like Tim's doing his best to keep still.

Once Buster's gone all the way down, once he's got all of Tim's cock in his mouth, he feels one of Tim's hands sliding into his hair. Back when Buster did this in bars, he told guys to keep their hands out of his hair and off the back of his head. But now...it's Tim and things with Tim are different. Tim's not really pulling Buster's hair and he's not pushing down on Buster's head, but as Buster pulls back, he's very aware of Tim's hand.

Buster's not about to let the distraction get to him as he starts sucking Tim's dick nice and slow. His mouth's slick now, making it easier to go all the way down. When he starts using his tongue each time he pulls back, he can hear Tim's breathing pick up, can taste the sharp/salt taste of pre-come. That's what he's been missing, that taste and the hot, thick bulk of someone's dick in his mouth; he moans a little as his concentration narrows down.

He's not sure how long he's been down here--long enough that his jaw and the back of his throat are getting a little sore--when Tim's hand suddenly goes tight in his hair. "Buster," Tim says, his voice low and rough. He tugs Buster's hair and Buster goes with it, pulling up until only the head of Tim's cock is in his mouth. "Buster," Tim says again and this time it sounds a little like a warning.

Buster can guess what Tim wants and for a minute, he thinks of pulling away. He's never let anyone set the pace, never let anyone use his mouth like this, and he's not sure he wants it. But what if, a little voice says in the back of his mind. What if Tim doesn't care what Buster wants? It's not like Buster can stop him. A dark, sharp coil of fear twists in his stomach but at the same time, he's nodding, just a little.

It hurts a little when Tim really digs his fingers into Buster's hair, but the hint of pain just makes it better as Tim pushes Buster's head down. Tim's moving his hips too, pushing his dick into Buster's mouth a lot faster than Buster was going earlier. Buster can take it though and what's more, he wants to take it. He's still a little scared, but even that feels good, just like it did that first night. It gets even better when he gives in and lets Tim totally take over. _Yours, _he thinks. _All yours.___

__It doesn't take long; another minute or two and then Buster's swallowing hard as Tim shoves into his mouth and comes. "Buster...oh fuck...Buster."_ _

__When Tim finally lets go of Buster's hair, Buster looks up at him. "Thank you," Tim says after a moment. "I know that's not what you're used to."_ _

__Buster licks the corner of his mouth and smiles. "Because you wouldn't have stopped if I wanted you to?"_ _

__"I kind of got the impression you were afraid I wouldn't."_ _

__Buster eases off his knees, but stays down on the floor. When he leans his head against Tim's thigh, Tim reaches down and rests his hand on Buster's cheek again._ _

__"I was and I wasn't. It's a...it's a safe fear, if that makes sense. If I honestly thought you'd force me, I'd do my best to fight you off." He shrugs a little. "Knowing you'd really stop if I wanted you to...I just shove that to the back of my head. Like you said the other night, I get off on being afraid and out of control. It's...I guess it's a kink."_ _

__"I like your kinks. In case you hadn't guessed."_ _

__Buster laughs a little and closes his eyes. "Better," he finally says after several minutes of silence._ _

__"Yeah?"_ _

__"Mmm hmm." He turns his head and kisses Tim's palm. "But you're probably not all that comfortable with your jeans down around your thighs like that."_ _

__He's making a joke of it, but when Tim answers him, he sounds serious. "I'd put up with a lot more discomfort to see you like this."_ _

__"Like how? Naked and at your feet?"_ _

__"Well, that's nice too. But no, I meant relaxed like this. You're always so tightly wound."_ _

__"Just how I am, I guess."_ _

__"Not always," Tim says._ _

__"You're probably the only person who sees that. Well, maybe Bum."_ _

__"It would be easy to be jealous."_ _

__Now it's Buster's turn to be serious. "If he'd ever given me the slightest encouragement, down in the minors...." He shrugs. "Maybe he wouldn't just be my best friend. But he didn't and, all things considered, I'm glad he didn't. You don't have anything to be jealous of."_ _

__"I know. And I'm not...I let people have friends, you know. I can't help being possessive--we get that along with the crystal ball and the duck call--but I try to keep it in line."_ _

__"You're never going to let me live the duck call thing down."_ _

__"Probably not." Tim rubs his thumb across Buster's cheek. "How are you feeling?"_ _

__"Fine, why?"_ _

__"Not hungry yet?"_ _

__The minute Tim says it, Buster realizes just how hungry he is. "You had to mention it."_ _

__After calling in the room service order, Buster washes up and pulls on a pair of sweats. When he comes out of the bathroom, Tim's shirtless as well. He's lounging on the bed staring at his iPhone and, God, it's all so domestic and normal. This is what Buster wants when he thinks about not being alone. Not just the sex, but someone to just be with. And maybe Tim should be at least a little jealous of Bum because it's only now that Buster realizes just how much he missed rooming with him._ _

__How, he wonders, did he ever think he could do this with Kristen? He never felt comfortable with her; he spent all their time together constantly checking himself. Wondering if he was doing everything right, wondering if she could look at him and somehow tell, wondering how long she'd be able to tell herself that he wasn't interested in sex because he wasn't pushy like other guys...all the wondering and the worrying got exhausting after a while._ _

__"What's up?" Buster asks, looking at Tim's phone._ _

__"Just some stuff from my broker...I think we call them investment managers now. I can't keep up." Tim tosses the phone aside. "I'm not any worse off than I was yesterday, so I really don't care."_ _

__"Must be nice."_ _

__"Money's different for us. Not all of us are fantastically rich, but for a lot of vampires it's just one more way to keep score. Me? As long as I can afford a baseball team, I'm good." It's a sudden reminder of who Tim really is and Buster can't help sighing a little as he sits down on the edge of the bed._ _

__"I just broke the mood, didn't I?" Tim asks._ _

__"No...yes...I don't know." Buster rolls his eyes. "That was helpful."_ _

__Tim just looks at him for a long moment. "Did you mean it?" he finally asks._ _

__"Mean what?" Buster thinks about the things he's said tonight. "What I said about not wanting to be alone?"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__"Yeah, I meant it."_ _

__"It's a start."_ _

__"No, it's more than that." Buster takes a deep breath. "Being alone isn't really the problem."_ _

__"Oh?"_ _

__"Well, it is but.... It's not just that I don't want to do this alone any more. It's that I don't want to be without you any more." Swallowing hard, Buster keeps looking at Tim. His heart's racing--pounding so hard he's sure Tim can hear it._ _

__"I said it would be easy to fall in love with you," Tim says. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed with Buster. "And I was right; it's been very easy."_ _

__Before Buster can respond, Tim's pushing him back on the bed and bending down over him. "Don't say anything you're not ready to say," he murmurs, his lips right against Buster's mouth. Then, almost as if he wants Buster to keep silent, he kisses Buster, deep and rough. It's all teeth--not fangs, but Tim's biting Buster's lip--and the slick, hot pressure of Tim's tongue in his mouth. And maybe Buster's a little tired of being passive or maybe it's just that he wants this so fucking much, but for whatever reason, he's digging his fingers into Tim's arms and kissing Tim back as hard as he can._ _

__The next few minutes are breathless and a little wild, and long before Buster expected it, he's hard again. Tim's pressing him into the bed and now he pushes his leg between Buster's legs until his thigh is pressing right against Buster's dick. Maybe Buster should be embarrassed at the way he's shoving up against Tim's leg, but he's too turned on to care._ _

__"Drives me crazy," Tim says, his lips right against Buster's ear. "Seeing you lose it this way."_ _

__"I'm really gonna lose it if you...."_ _

__Before Buster can finish, Tim pulls back. "Well, that's horrible timing."_ _

__"Huh?" And then Buster hears it, someone knocking at the door. "Oh shit. The room service."_ _

__"I'll get it."_ _

__Buster sits up and runs a hand through his hair. He really wants Tim to fuck him and he's considering how to talk him into it when he hears who's really at the door._ _

__"No, it's okay. I'll leave." Bum's voice is tight and he's not calling Tim "sir."_ _

__Fuck._ _

__"No, don't," Buster says._ _

__"You'd better come in," Tim says at the same time._ _

__As the door closes, Buster gets up and grabs a t-shirt out of his bag. Once he pulls it on, he turns back to face the room; Bum's leaning against a wall, his arms crossed across his chest. He's looking down at his feet, but Buster doesn't need to see his face to know he's pissed off. Tim's glancing from one of them to another and it's obvious he's not very happy right now either._ _

__"What the hell?" Bum finally says. He looks up at Buster. "I thought you weren't going to."_ _

__"I changed my mind."_ _

__"Yeah? Or had it changed for you?"_ _

__"Don't," Tim begins to say._ _

__"What the fuck is your problem?" Buster talks right over Tim. "How many times do I have to tell you--both of you--that I know what the fuck I'm doing?"_ _

__"I dunno," Bum says. "But I'm gonna keep asking because this isn't like you. This isn't...I never seen you like this." He doesn't say what "this" is but Buster's pretty sure it's more than just Buster's mouth being all red and swollen. All fucked out and happy? Contented and relaxed for once?_ _

__Just like that, Buster's surprised by the tight knot of anger in his chest. "Yeah well, what the fuck was I gonna do? Bring guys back to our place in San Jose? Hook up with dudes on the road? You've never seen me like this because I've never been able to have this. You get to talk all the goddamn time about how you and Ali have all kinds of sex and everyone just makes fucking newlywed jokes." He's breathing hard and his hands are clenched tightly. "I...I find something...I find _someone_ and my best fucking friend thinks I can't possibly want it...thinks I've been forced into it or Influenced or some damn thing."_ _

__"Buster," Tim says quietly. "This isn't just...he's right to be worried about you."_ _

__"Jesus fucking Christ!" Buster glares at Tim. "You know what? Fuck both of you! I go out on a fucking limb; I tell you guys things I've never told anyone, and now you're agreeing with one another about how I can't want those things?" He turns away and stalks over to the window, looking out at the steady silver and red streams of the car lights on the freeway below._ _

__"Maybe I should just get dressed and go out to West Hollywood." he says. "Find someone who just wants to fuck me without all this bullshit. Would that be okay with you, Bum? Would that convince everyone in this fucking room that I'm fucking gay because I'm fucking gay? That no one but God made me that way?" As angry as he is, he suddenly feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders._ _

__"Buster," Tim says._ _

__"Buster," Bum says at the same time._ _

__They both sound a little hurt and that's not fair because Buster's the one who's hurting right now. "Two of the people I care the most about are in this room," he says, swallowing hard. "And both of you are acting like I'm making some kind of mistake. How much more of this am I supposed to deal with? You know, along with everything else that's going on in my life right now."_ _

__His face is hot and his chest is tight; it feels good when he leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I just thought I wouldn't have to be alone any more. I just thought I could fall in love like anyone else."_ _

__And oh God, he's gonna fucking cry like a little kid any minute now._ _

__Behind him, he hears the door to the bathroom close and then someone puts a hand on his shoulder._ _

__"I'm sorry," Bum says. "God, Buster...I'm so fucking sorry."_ _

__"Yeah," Buster says, not turning around. "Me too."_ _

__"You got nothing to be sorry for." Bum grips his shoulder tighter. "I never thought about what it's like for you. I never...just didn't think at all, I guess."_ _

__"It's not like I ever said anything before, down in the minors, I mean. I thought you didn't know and I guess I didn't want you to know. Didn't want anyone to know."_ _

__"I shoulda said something. Let you know I knew, that it was okay."_ _

__"Is it? Or was it just okay until I did something about it? 'Til you had to think about me with a guy?"_ _

__It's a fucking mean thing to say, but Bum just sighs._ _

__"Maybe. I dunno. If it was someone else, some other guy...I dunno. Maybe if it was, I'd be a dick about him too."_ _

__Oddly enough, Bum's words make Buster feel a little better. "You're saying you're an equal opportunity jerk."_ _

__Bum snorts. "I guess so." He finally lets go of Buster's shoulder and turns until his back's against the window. They stand like that, side by side and silent, for a long moment._ _

__"I really am in love with him," Buster finally says, still staring out the window. "And it's not just the charisma or even that he's a vampire."_ _

__"Yeah?"_ _

__"Yeah. I just...it's like you and Ali. You both found the right person. So did I."_ _

__"Ain't gonna be easy."_ _

__"You think I don't know that? It's not easy for you, being away from each other half the time, is it?"_ _

__"Nah, but it's worth it."_ _

__"My point exactly," Buster says._ _

__There's a pause and then Bum sighs again. "Wish you found someone I could beat the crap out of."_ _

__"What?" Buster finally turns to look at him. "Why?"_ _

__"If he hurts you or breaks your heart or whatever, there's nothing I can do about it."_ _

__"You can always say 'I told you so.'"_ _

__"I'm not gonna...look, I'll stop, okay? You wanna be with him, then that's what you want. I ain't gonna keep trying to talk you out of it."_ _

__"Jesus," Buster says. "I know you're talking like a fucking hick to make your point, but if you don't cut it out, I'm going to kick your ass."_ _

__"Yeah, good luck with that." Bum takes a deep breath. "I should go."_ _

__"And I should see how much I just fucked this up."_ _

__"Like you could." When Buster looks confused, Bum laughs a little. "All you gotta do is look at him to see it--he's totally in love with you."_ _

__"Then why does he keep trying to talk me out of this?"_ _

__"You're such a fucking moron. He's doing it because he's afraid you'll leave."_ _

__"That doesn't make any sense."_ _

__"Yeah well, love don't make no sense."_ _

__"Shut. Up."_ _

__Just as Bum reaches the door someone knocks on it. It really is room service this time and by the time Buster's said goodnight to Bum, the guy's finished setting everything up. Buster signs the receipt, tips him and then, finally, the room's quiet again. It feels like it's been years since he called the order in, but when he takes the covers off the food, everything's still warm._ _

__Maybe he's tense and maybe he's nervous, but that doesn't keep him from being fucking starving. He's just started in on his steak when Tim finally comes out of the bathroom. They look at one another for a moment and then Buster gestures with his steak knife. "You want some of this?"_ _

__"No, thank you. But don't let me stop you."_ _

__It's a little weird to sit here and eat on his own, but Tim's reading something on his iPhone again and frankly, Buster's kind of glad for an excuse not to make conversation. Finally, however, he's left with nothing but the last two bites of chocolate cake he can't quite finish. At least, not if he wants to have sex later. Which he does; he deserves it, for fuck's sake._ _

__"I wish I'd been able to tell you in a more romantic way," he says. Tim immediately puts his phone aside. "But I meant it. I told Bum that it had nothing to do with what you are."_ _

__"Oh?" Tim sounds wary._ _

__"The late night phone calls were annoying, but not because we weren't having sex. Well...." Buster smiles a little. "Not only because of that. It was having to hang up when I wanted to keep talking. My room always felt really quiet and empty after."_ _

__"Mine too." Tim looks down at his hands. "How much have I screwed this up?"_ _

__"Tim," Buster says and then waits until Tim finally meets his eyes. "You haven't. But will you please trust me? I know what I'm doing and now that I've made up my mind--now that I'm here--I'm not going to leave."_ _

__When Tim lets out a long breath, Buster realizes that Madison was right. "You can, you know," Tim says. "Leave I mean. I won't...."_ _

__"You mean you _can't_ ," Buster says. "That's the thing I don't get. I mean, I understand why Bum's worried, but you've told me over and over that you can't make me do anything I don't want to do. And I know you can't; I know you're way too young to do that to anyone. Why do you keep going on about it?"_ _

__"Because...." Tim sighs. "For a couple reasons. One, this has happened really fast. You were only a scouting report, only an expensive investment I really hoped would pay off. The future of the team? Yes. Someone I personally wanted? No. At least not until that first game and then it was...I don't know what it was. Just this sudden, overwhelming _want_ and it kind of scared me, because I've never felt that before. And so when you started thinking and dreaming about me, I had to wonder if maybe everyone was wrong. If maybe I did something to you."_ _

__"Because I couldn't possibly be interested in you on my own?"_ _

__"Buster, you come across as totally straight--more so than any gay men I've ever met and believe me, that's saying a lot. So yes, when the butch rookie was suddenly responding to my interest, it worried me."_ _

__"Fair enough," Buster says. "But still, we've talked about that. If I hadn't wanted your attention, you would have stopped. All along you've bent over backwards to leave all of the decisions about this whole thing to me. If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't all that interested."_ _

__Tim looks shocked. "I am."_ _

__"Like I said, if I didn't know better. I do know better, okay?" When Tim nods, Buster smiles a little. "What's your other reason?"_ _

__"My family. I told you that I don't hang out with very many vampires, so maybe I shouldn't care. But the fact of the matter is, I represent my Line and we're held to pretty high standards. It's not just people thinking I'm Influencing you, it's also that I, as you put it, sign your paychecks. I might leave all of the decisions up to Sabean and his people, but if I told him to get rid of you, you'd be gone. Not without a lot of argument, but still, it's a pretty powerful threat."_ _

__"You wouldn't do that."_ _

__"Thank you for the vote of confidence, but it's about perception. When I talked to my Grand-Sire about you and how I was afraid I'd pushed too hard, he told me I was being an idiot and tried to talk some sense into me. He said what you've said--I can't make you do a damn thing." Tim shakes his head. "But he brought up a good point; what I do and how I do it reflects on the Line."_ _

__"I hadn't thought about that. But you know, I'm a gay baseball player sleeping with my team's owner. If people know that and I get signed to a big contract, it doesn't look good either. Actually, contract or no, it won't play. It's not the same thing, but what we both do reflects on the team."_ _

__Saying he's gay is still a little weird, but the funny thing is that, with everything else going on in his life, being gay isn't quite the issue it was before._ _

__"Good point."_ _

__"Now," Buster says. "We both know I'm here and that I want to be here and you want me to be here. Can we please stop talking it to death?"_ _

__"There are still some things we need to work out."_ _

__"Tonight?"_ _

__"No, not tonight."_ _

__"Good," Buster says. "Do you need to...to bite me again?" He should probably just say "feed off me," but the phrase makes him feel weird even though he totally gets off on the process. He supposes he'll get used to it eventually._ _

__"With you playing tomorrow, I won't. I wasn't that hungry and if I'm feeding off a person, I need a lot less."_ _

__"But there's nothing that says you have to do it every time we have sex." Buster frowns a little. "Is there?"_ _

__"No." Tim looks right at him, a direct stare that has Buster shifting in his chair. "But I've got to say, when you start letting go, you're very tempting."_ _

__"Oh," Buster says, trying not to sound too disappointed. On the one hand, it's nice to know Tim thinks that way about him, on the other hand, Buster wants to get off again._ _

__"Very tempting doesn't mean too tempting. It's not as hard to keep away from your neck when I've just fed off you." Tim gets out of his chair and moves to stand behind Buster. Leaning down, he kisses the back of Buster's neck. "You're like that cake there--I could have more, but I don't need it."_ _

__"What do you need?" Buster asks, tipping his head forward a little._ _

__"I was about to ask you the same thing."_ _

__"I need...." Buster pauses and gives it some real thought. "Tonight has been kind of complicated. I think I just need to be with you." He laughs a little. "Not that I'm turning down sex, but...."_ _

__"No, I know what you mean." Tim kisses his neck again. "Come to bed."_ _

__Tim strips down when they reach the bed and so does Buster. He can't help blushing when Tim stares at him; he feels big and a little clumsy, but Tim obviously likes what he sees. He's smiling as he pulls Buster down onto the bed, as if he knows what Buster's thinking._ _

__"Get used to it," he says. "Because I still think you're ridiculously attractive; I like looking at you."_ _

__"Shut up," Buster says, almost automatically. Biting back an apology, he adds: "Seriously, I've got to stop blushing at some point in my life, right?"_ _

__Tim just laughs and leans down to kiss Buster. "Hopefully not soon," he says and then cuts off Buster's answer by kissing him again._ _

__They stay like that, just kissing, for a long while. It's less frantic than it was earlier and Buster likes it--he's learning how Tim likes to be kissed and Tim's figuring out the same thing about him. Tim's still setting the pace, but Buster's fine with that, even when Tim rolls over on top of him and starts kissing him harder._ _

__"Your mouth...." Tim says._ _

__"It's nothing special." Buster turns his head a little and kisses Tim's jawline._ _

__"That's what you think; I could spend hours on your lower lip alone." As if to demonstrate, Tim sucks on Buster's lip, biting it at the same time. It feels as good as it did earlier and when Tim moves against him, his dick rubbing against Buster's hip, Buster can't help moaning._ _

__"So fucking tempting," Tim murmurs, bending to kiss Buster's neck. He presses his lips hard against Buster's skin, right on the same spot he bit earlier._ _

__"Don't," Buster says, which surprises him because he totally wants Tim to bite him again. "Not tonight."_ _

__Tim pauses and then pushes up on his arms a little to look at Buster. Buster's sure he's going to be furious, but Tim just nods, like Buster's passed a test. Come to think of it, Buster's pretty sure he has._ _

__"Good thing I don't need to do it to make you come," Tim says._ _

__"Not like that's difficult," Buster says, arching up against Tim._ _

__"Nice thing about being young."_ _

__"Not just that." Buster squirms as Tim settles between his legs. "It's you...oh fuck!" Tim's reached down and is jacking them both; Buster can feel the hot length of Tim's dick against his and it feels fucking amazing._ _

__"Buster," Tim says, his voice rough. "You're mine...all mine. Aren't you?"_ _

__"Yours..." Buster arches under Tim, shoving his dick up into Tim's hand. "Yours...all fucking yours."_ _

__Tim lets go of his own cock and concentrates on...well, on driving Buster fucking crazy. He brings Buster to the edge and then backs off while Buster squirms and swears under him. It's not like Buster doesn't know what Tim wants, but there's no reason Buster has to give in right away. It's only when Tim gets him worked up for a second time, when his whole body is shaking because he _needs_ to come right fucking now, that Buster opens his mouth._ _

__"Please," he groans. Just like that first night, once he's said it, it's easier to keep saying it. "Tim, please let me...please make me."_ _

__"Make you what?" Tim rubs his thumb along the underside of Buster's dick. "Tell me what you want."_ _

__"Wanna come," Buster mumbles. "Please...please make me come. Please...wanna come for you."_ _

__"Do it," Tim growls. He twists his hand and works Buster's dick hard. "Now Buster!"_ _

__Buster gasps sharply and arches up into Tim's grip one more time. When he comes, it's incredible, overwhelming--all he can do is lie there and give it up as Tim keeps stroking him. Finally, after shuddering his way through the aftershocks, he bats ineffectively at Tim's arm. "Too much...."_ _

__When Tim pulls his hand away, Buster shivers again and then relaxes, his whole body sinking back into the bed. Vaguely, he knows he needs to do something for Tim, get him off in some way, but he's not sure he can. "I should," he mumbles._ _

__"You should just lie there and let me...." Tim grips Buster's hips and holds him in place while he rubs off on Buster's thigh. "Buster," Tim says, his breath already unsteady. "Buster...."_ _

__"S'okay...do it all over me...'m all yours."_ _

__Tim's fingers dig into Buster's hips hard enough to bruise as he shoves up against Buster one last time and comes. "Mine," he says softly, once he's collapsed on top of Buster._ _

__"Mmmmm...yeah."_ _

__"Can you stay?" Buster asks later, as they're washing up. It's just about twelve-thirty although it feels a lot later._ _

__"As long as no one actually sees me leaving your room, there won't be any questions about why I'm wandering around the hotel in the middle of the night."_ _

__"Must be nice."_ _

__"Not really." Tim leans against the bathroom counter and looks at Buster. "People don't ask because they're afraid of me." He shrugs. "I'm not asking for pity here; I knew what I was getting into."_ _

__"Is there anywhere you can go where people won't know? I mean, you're famous here in the States, but not everyone in the world knows who you are."_ _

__"No, but it's hard to hide _what_ I am. You wouldn't think it because I look like any other person you'd pass on the street, but in the end, I can only hide it for so long. People always feel something around us; somehow they always know._ _

__"Yeah, I guess they would." Again, Buster's a little unsettled._ _

__"Weird?"_ _

__"A little." Buster shrugs as they leave the bathroom. "It's all so hot, you know?" he says, heading toward the empty dinner dishes. He pauses a moment to finish off the last couple bites of cake and then turns to look at Tim._ _

__"The sex and the...the submission and the being afraid; it's not always easy, but it's hot. And it's really fucking amazing when you bite me, but when I think about it rationally, it's kind of strange."_ _

__"Because you're dinner."_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"It's not that simple," Tim says, but he looks a little wary, like he's not sure Buster will understand. "You're not a cow or a chicken. You're a person and I have a relationship with you. Yes, I feed off you, but...."_ _

__"You still respect me in the morning?"_ _

__Tim snorts. "Yeah." He settles on the bed, sitting cross-legged._ _

__After a moment, Buster gets into bed too. Piling pillows behind his head, he leans back and looks at Tim. "A long time ago, you wouldn't have had to ask."_ _

__"I'm not a historian, but I know that's not as simple as it sounds either. See, the thing is, there are only a few of us and a lot of you. It's always been like that. On any given day up in the City, there are maybe three or four vampires besides me around. The population of San Francisco is what? 800,000 or so? If one of us stepped over the line...well, I don't really like the vampire's chances. And I don't like the vampire's chances in a small town in the Dark Ages. Or in a logging camp in the future state of Washington."_ _

__"But that's not the only reason you don't just take what you want."_ _

__"We're still people; we still have a moral code."_ _

__"I know that. I'm sorry."_ _

__"Don't be. You have to know these things because you're going to be, well, in between is the best way to put it. It's not a war. There aren't sides here, but there kind of are, you know?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"Jesus hung out with hookers and tax collectors, but there's no salvation for us. Jewish law says we're abominations and we certainly don't fit in the Buddhists world view because we cling to this life too strongly. We upset the order in any religion that believes in reincarnation and we make people who venerate their ancestors uncomfortable."_ _

__"The Muslims...didn't I read somewhere that they're okay with it?"_ _

__"They are, mostly, and there have been plenty of vampires who've converted. But, Islam roughly translates to "submission" and to be a true believer you have to accept that God's will is greater than your own. Not every vampire can do that." Tim pauses and runs a hand through his hair._ _

__"I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me; I don't need religion or a promise of salvation to be a good person. But there are lines and when those lines are religious and not entirely rational, you can understand why our fear is that someday, someone will cross them."_ _

__Buster's never really thought about how vulnerable vampires are. "What keeps that from happening?"_ _

__"We make excellent assassins."_ _

__It's the last answer Buster expected. "What?"_ _

__"You go to war with vampires and they don't bother with the soldiers in the field. We can't hold our own against an army, but an army can't do very well if the officers and civilian leaders suddenly start dying nasty deaths. And we don't have a problem reminding people of that."_ _

__"The rose," Buster says, remembering a random fact from a history class. "The red one they sneak in and leave for new Popes."_ _

__"Exactly. Popes aren't all that powerful these days, but it's a reminder that during the Vampire Crusade--the last time someone declared war on us--five popes died violent deaths in the space of ten years."_ _

__"Makes me wish I'd paid more attention to history and less to econ and baseball."_ _

__Tim laughs. "If you really want a reading list, I can come up with one for you."_ _

__"Maybe in the off season." Buster means it; even though he's not much of a reader, he can't help being curious. "So now I'm part of this."_ _

__"You will be." Tim opens his mouth then closes it again. "I'm not trying to scare you away," he finally says._ _

__"Good. I mean, war happens for other reasons too, you know? 9/11 had nothing to do with vampires."_ _

__"Two of us died that day." When Buster looks surprised, Tim gives him a cynical smile. "Yeah, you don't hear about them very often."_ _

__"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But my point was that I'm a lot more likely to die in an airplane crash or even due to some random act of terrorism than in a human versus vampire war."_ _

__"It's not that simple...."_ _

__"Don't start," Buster says. "I know it's not."_ _

__Shaking his head, Tim just looks at Buster. "All right," he says after a long moment. Buster has the feeling the discussion is just being shelved, but as long as they don't have to have it now, he can live with that._ _

__"Anything else you feel the need to scare me with?"_ _

__"You'll never be able to fuck me."_ _

__"What?" Buster stares at him in shock._ _

__"I mean that literally. I can blow you as long as I'm in control, but I can't...I just can't let you actually fuck me. It's not just me and it's not just you; most male vampires won't do it and no one thinks very highly of the ones that do." When Buster keeps staring at him, Tim gives him a rueful smile. "History and religion and the rest of it is vague and nebulous; the intimate stuff matters a lot more."_ _

__"What do women do? Female vampires, I mean?" It's the first thing that comes to mind and even as he says it, Buster feels like an idiot._ _

__"Extremely submissive partners. Female Companions." Tim's voice is dry and matter of fact. "Bondage."_ _

__"Oh." Buster's face is almost painfully hot, but he tries to keep going. "I'm kinda...okay no, I'm really submissive."_ _

__"Yes, but that's with me. Have you ever actually fucked anyone?"_ _

__"A couple times with Kristen, but it's like everything with her, I was trying too hard to act straight to really get into it." He shrugs. "A guy? No. Too gay. I know, it's stupid to suck dick and pretend you're just fooling around, but denial is denial." Before Tim can say anything, Buster starts talking again. "I don't want to fuck you," he says. "I haven't even thought about it when I'm...you know."_ _

__"You don't crack your knuckles do you?" Tim says, after a moment._ _

___"What?_ _ _

__"I'm just trying to find a flaw, any flaw."_ _

__"Um...I'm a twenty-three year old guy. I'm pretty sure I'm not perfect." Buster pauses. "I have my stupid superstitions when it comes baseball, but you know that. I like dick jokes. Um...Kristen hated that my favorite movie is _Dumb and Dumber_. Mom and Sam, my sister, agree with her on that one."_ _

__"Me too."_ _

__"Yeah, I know. It's just...stupid funny."_ _

__"I was joking. At one point in my life, I hung out with vaudeville people. Lots of dick jokes and a whole lot of stupid funny."_ _

__"It's so weird," Buster says. "I mean we're talking about all this vampire stuff and I'm mostly good with it. And then you come up with that and it still throws me for a loop."_ _

__"Well, there's politics and then there's time. It's strange seeing me through your eyes, because I'm used to thinking of myself as being very young."_ _

__Buster laughs. "And yet you were hanging out with people who did something no one does any more. When was that?"_ _

__"When I first went to New York in 1910. That's when I met John McGraw." Tim pauses and gives Buster a look. "They're raising you right, aren't they? You know who John McGraw is?"_ _

__"Yeah," Buster says, rolling his eyes. "And Fred Merkle and whatshisname...Snodgrass."_ _

__"He was another Fred, poor guy."_ _

__"And before you ask, we learn about a lot of other famous Giants."_ _

__"Well, that's kind of my fault. I wanted my players to understand what it means to be a Giant."_ _

__"It means a lot," Buster says. "I mean, I wanted to play pro ball; I'd have been happy in Tampa with no bonus at all, if that's what it took."_ _

__"That was not going to happen. Sabean wanted you and I was ready to write a bigger check if I had to."_ _

__"Damn. I should have held out."_ _

__"Also," Tim says with a chuckle, "you wouldn't have made it past the trading deadline in Tampa."_ _

__"True." Buster laughs. "But I was trying to say that I'm glad I'm a Giant. I'm glad I'm a part of all that history."_ _

__"Good. And about that--I promised myself not to interfere with your career, but you need to know one thing."_ _

__"Oh?" Buster braces himself but Tim just grins at him._ _

__"If I ever see you in Dodger blue, we're done."_ _

__Buster laughs. "Now I have something to use against you." He reaches out and rests a hand on Tim's knee. "Maybe I'll get a tattoo. The LA logo or maybe a big picture of Lasorda."_ _

__"Now that? That would be a major flaw," Tim says, resting his hand on Buster's. "Also, I'd never have sex with you again."_ _

__"Now you have something to use against me."_ _

__They fall silent for a long moment while Buster looks at their hands. "I love you," he says. It's surprising, not that he said it, but how easy it is to say. "I just wanted you to hear me say it when I wasn't having a moment."_ _

__"I love you too." Tim brings Buster's hand up to his mouth and kisses Buster's palm. "It wasn't quite love at first sight, but by that second date I was pretty sure."_ _

__"And you waited for me to figure it out. Thank you."_ _

__* * *_ _

__Buster wakes up around three in the morning. Tim's a dim figure, lit only by the low light Buster left on in the bathroom. As near as Buster can tell, he's not doing anything, just sitting there._ _

__"Hey," Buster says, his voice rough with sleep. Well, that and his throat's a little sore from earlier._ _

__"Hey. I hope I'm not being too creepy."_ _

__"That depends," Buster says. "What're you doing?"_ _

__"Watching you sleep."_ _

__"Okay, that's mildly creepy." Buster smiles. "But just mildly."_ _

__"It's a habit of mine. I was thinking about things too."_ _

__"I'll let it slide." Buster runs a hand along Tim's side. "Kiss me? Please?"_ _

__It's nice because neither of them is trying to start something. Buster's pretty sure he could get it up again, but he's okay with just this. Apparently, Tim is too; they keep kissing for a long time, long enough that Buster's mouth is feeling like it did earlier--hot and maybe a little swollen._ _

__"Is this," he says when Tim finally pulls back a little. Buster runs his tongue across his lower lip. "Is it gonna show in the morning?"_ _

__Tim reaches down and rubs his thumb across Buster's mouth. "I don't think so. But it's a good reason to stop."_ _

__"I wasn't trying to stop you."_ _

__"No, I know. But I should go and you should get some more sleep."_ _

__"Yeah, probably," Buster says with a sigh. "At least it's a night game tomorrow. Later today. Whatever."_ _

__"Sleep in if you can," Tim says. "This, us, can't get in the way; you need to be able to play."_ _

__"I know that," Buster says, trying not to sound too exasperated. "And I'll tell you if it's a problem."_ _

__Bending down, Tim gives him another kiss. "I'm sorry. I know you will."_ _


	8. Chapter 8

September 6, 2010 -- September 19, 2010

They're in Arizona next, so the flight from LA is nice and short; it's just dusk when they land. Once Buster's settled in his room, he calls Tim.

"We're going out," he says. "I think the plan is to get Johnny and Uribe drunk."

"While all the rest of you stay sober."

"I didn't say that. But they're the real heroes from today's game, so no one's gonna push me. And anyway, you know I won't drink that much."

"That's too bad. I was hoping you would and then wander up here and offer me a blowjob. I mean you can't offer one to Bumgarner, he's pitching tomorrow."

"What, there's a no head before you pitch rule? No one tells me anything."

"There's a no Buster giving any of his pitchers head rule. Ever."

"My pitchers?" 

"It's your staff and you know it," Tim says. "I didn't see Whiteside out there catching Sanchez this afternoon."

"Don't. If you want to tell me I'm good, that's one thing. But please don't bring the other guys into it like that."

"Fair enough. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." There's an awkward silence and then Buster takes a deep breath. "Can I...do you really want me to come up to your room later? Or are you coming down here?" They'd spent some time together Saturday night, but, because Sunday had been a day game, Tim hadn't spent the night. He hadn't fed off Buster either and Buster can't help wondering if Tim's getting hungry.

"I'll be in your room when you get back to the hotel."

"Do you want...are you hungry?"

"Yes," Tim says and something about his voice makes Buster shiver.

"Um...good," he says.

Way to be smooth, Posey, he thinks after hanging up. He's got to get better at this sometime, doesn't he?

He nurses a couple of beers for most of the evening and takes the teasing in stride when Huff notices.

"Do you really want to see me puke if Boch makes us all run tomorrow?"

"No he doesn't," Burrell says with a laugh. "Huffy's a sympathy barfer."

"Fuck you, I am not."

"Dude, you must have puked in our trashcan like...twenty fucking times. At least."

"Thanks for that image," Ross says. "Because that's what we all wanna hear when we're getting shitfaced."

"Worst fucking roommate ever," Burrell says.

"I dunno," Buster says. "This moron can crack his toes." He jerks his head at Bum. "And he'll start up just as you're falling asleep."

"Wouldn't want ya'll to sleep through it."

"Seriously? That's so cool." Fontenot says. "Wanna show us?"

"You're fucking weird, Frodo." Freddie punches Fontenot in the arm.

"Don't even think about it," Buster says. "None of you want to be around when he takes those boots off."

"It's fucking gross," Sanchez says. "Try having a locker next to his."

"Pablo's worse," Torres says.

The next half hour is devoted to a bilingual discussion about whose feet smell worse. It's really stupid, but everyone's laughing and trash talking and it feels good. It feels right. It's the team they've turned into--loose, diverse and a little weird. In a way, it's a bit of a problem for Buster because it makes him want to think about the other division leaders so he can start planning for the postseason. They're even not in first place yet, he tells himself. They still have the Padres to beat. That's the team he needs to think about; that's the team blocking the Giants from first place.  
He looks around the bar again, taking stock of the staff. Bum's been a little shaky, but Buster knows his Bum and he knows he'll pull out of it. Cainer's his usual steady self, no worries there. On the other hand, Buster is worried about Zito because you just never know where his head's going to be during any given start. Sanchez has been damn good down the stretch and, more importantly, he and Buster are learning how to work together. Kershaw? He seems to be over his July hiccup and is back to being the Kershaw who won two Cy Youngs in a row.

He'd put this staff--his staff--against any in the game.

Bring it on, Padres, he thinks as he grabs another beer. Bring it on.

He's still in a good mood, and just a little buzzed, when he opens the door of his hotel room. Tim's lounging on his bed and then, in a blur of movement Buster can hardly see, he's got Buster plastered against the wall. "Fuck!" Buster grunts as Tim presses up against him.

"Mine." Tim's hands are tight on Buster's hips, pinning him to the wall.

"Yours," Buster says, swallowing hard. Although Tim's manhandled him little before, this is the first time Buster's really felt his strength. It's a little frightening and Buster wonders if it's supposed to be. As hot as it is, though, he doesn't want this to happen up against a wall again. "Please...want you to fuck me."

He's catching again tomorrow night, so he's braced for an argument, but Tim just grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him to the bed. For a minute, as his back hits the bed, Buster's sure Tim's going to tear the shirt right off him, but Tim steps back a little and starts pulling his own clothes off.

Buster strips as fast as he can but his shorts are still down around one ankle when Tim settles on the bed. He can't help tensing as he watches Tim slick up his fingers; as much as he wants Tim to fuck him right now, Buster really doesn't want him to rush this part. Maybe someday, when he's a little more used to it, but now? No.

"It's okay," Tim says. "I really want you, but, it's okay."

And it is okay. Tim's careful and patient as he gets Buster ready. He's almost too patient; even when Buster's arching his hips, moving with each push of Tim's fingers, Tim doesn't go any faster. "Tell me," he finally says. "Tell me what you want, Buster."

"You," Buster says. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to...." He tilts his head back and to the side. "I want you take what you need."

Tim moves between Buster's legs and looks down at him. His eyes are dark and when he opens his mouth Buster can see the sharp, white points of his fangs. Buster wonders, as his stomach tenses up, if he'll always be afraid of this. And if he'll always get off on the feeling.

"Spread a little for me," Tim says, on hand pushing at Buster's inner thigh.

Buster, his face hot, does as he's told. Then Tim's moving into him and it's so fucking perfect that Buster forgets to be embarrassed. Tim keeps it slow and after a few minutes, Buster wants more. "Please," he says. He's moving with Tim, rocking up to meet each thrust, and when he tries to speed things up, Tim goes with it. Dimly Buster thinks that maybe they should be a little more careful, but since this thing with Tim started, he's learning that careful can be overrated.

It's good, so good, and then, when Buster brings his knees up higher, it gets even better. He's feeling them again--those quick shocks of sensation as Tim's cock hits him in just the right place. "Fuck," he groans. "Tim...oh fuck...." He can feel it building up, feel himself moving closer and closer. He's almost there--his whole body tense with it--when Tim stops.

"Oh God...please...."

"Give it to me." Tim's voice is rough. "Tell me you want it."

"Please," Buster says, knowing exactly what Tim wants. He tilts head back even further. "Please...want you...need you to take it."

"Mine," Tim says as he bends his head down.

Buster has just enough time to feel that little spark of fear and then Tim's fangs are sinking into his neck. _Yours...all yours,_ he thinks as his blood begins to flow.

They're both still--Tim buried deep inside Buster--but it doesn't matter, Buster's right back there, right on the edge. All it takes is one quick, sharp thrust of Tim's hips and Buster gives it up so hard he almost passes out. Tim doesn't stop feeding; even as Buster still shivering through the last of his orgasm, he can see red behind his closed eyelids.

For a moment, Buster's afraid Tim won't stop, but even as he feels that little curl of fear, Tim lifts his head. "Mine," he snarls, his lips still a little red with Buster's blood.

And God, Buster thinks, that shouldn't be so fucking hot. "Yours," he agrees breathlessly as Tim bends down and licks his neck. "Yours."

Tim snarls again and thrusts into Buster two more times before he comes hard. After, when he sinks down on Buster, Buster wraps his arms around Tim's waist and holds him close.

"Thank you," Tim murmurs, his lips moving across Buster's skin.

"For what?" Buster says with a little laugh. "That was fucking amazing; I should thank you."

"For this," Tim says, kissing Buster's neck. "I can live without it, but not very happily."

Buster runs his hands down Tim's back while he thinks about what Tim just said. "That's still a little weird for me." He pauses and chuckles a little. "Well, before and after the fact. When it's happening...."

"I know. When it's happening it feels amazing."

"Yeah," Buster says, with a breathless little laugh. "It really does."

It's only as Buster's finishing off another large late night dinner, that Tim gives him a worried look.

"What?"

"How are you feeling?"

"You mean aside from being incredibly fucking hungry? I'm fine, why?"

"I took more than I have before," Tim says. "And I was...we were kind of enthusiastic."

"I'm...okay, fine, I'm a little sore." Buster's sure his face is bright red. "I've played through leg cramps that hurt more; I'll be okay."

* * *

Buster feels fine the next day, even in the crouch. It's a real pitcher's duel--both Kennedy and Bum pitch brilliantly--and it goes into extras before Schierholtz bangs out a triple that scores Huff and Buster. It's enough for a win, but the Padres win as well and the Giants are still one game back. Buster's got a feeling it'll be like this for the rest of the month, but he's fine with that.

"I mean," he says, as he hands Bum a beer. "It's our rookie season; could it get any better?"

They're in a bar--again--to celebrate Bum's game and the win. It's like it was last night; everyone's upbeat and happy and loud, really loud. Buster and Bum can only hear each other because they're toward the back of the bar and even then, they still have to lean in close.

"Don't think so," Bum says. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"I heard you saying nice things about me after the game."

"Didn't mean a fucking word of it," Buster says, but he's grinning.

Buster had been worried that catching Bum would be weird; things had been a little strained between them for a few days. But tonight, as soon as Buster settled down behind the plate and took that first pitch, they'd been in perfect sync. In fact, Bum pitched one of the better games he had since he came up and he didn't shake Buster off once.

The next week is every bit as exciting as Buster could have wished. They take the series against the D'backs and then they're in San Diego for a four game series. Each night Petco is packed with Giants fans; when Buster gets a two run homer in the first game, the crowd's almost as loud as the home crowd at AT&T.

They win three of the four games against the Padres; their only loss is a real heart breaker in which Bum gives up the only run either team scores. All in all, the team's feeling pretty good when they fly home; they're all alone in first place and anything seems possible.

"This must be driving you crazy," Tim says.

"What?" Buster says. "Sitting here watching you eat Mariza's linguine when I'd rather be the one feeding you?" He can--almost--say it without blushing.

Tim laughs. "You need to eat too."

"I know I've got to keep my strength up, but it seems like I'm eating all the damn time."

Tim only fed off him once during the series with the Padres. It was the day before their only loss, but Buster doesn't think that had anything to do with it. He hadn't fucked Buster and hadn't taken much blood either. Tonight, with an off day ahead of them, Buster wants more than that.

"Yes," Tim says, looking right at Buster's neck. "You do. But I was referring to never knowing where we'll be in the standings from day to day."

"I should say something about how I'm just trying to play my game or how I don't even pay any attention to the standings or whatever." Buster pokes at his lasagna. "But, yeah, I wish I just knew already."

Tim nods. "I've been good and haven't asked, but this--us--isn't a distraction, is it?"

"No. Except I keep waiting to feel different."

"You probably won't. Not all at once; it's gradual." Tim reaches across the table and rests his hand on Buster's. "If it's not a distraction now, it won't be through the end of the season."

Buster takes a deep breath. "Or the postseason?"

"Or the postseason."

Later that night, when Buster's finally come down from an incredible orgasm, he rests his head on Tim's shoulder. "The distraction thing," he begins to say.

"Mmmmm?" Tim says, kissing the top of his head.

"You're right. It won't be a problem. I'm...I'm good now."

"Not nervous anymore?"

"No. Maybe?" Buster chuckles. "Ask me again tomorrow. But this--us, I mean. It helps."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was thinking about it on the way over here and...God, this is gonna sound so fucking stupid."

"Probably not."

"Just probably?" Buster says, trying to sound offended. "Seriously though, I didn't realize how...I guess unhappy's the right word here. How unhappy I was thinking that the best I'd be able to do would be to find someone down the line, when my career was over.

"Having this, with both of us needing each other and...and loving each other...." He swallows hard. "It's like I constantly tensed up before and now...turns out it's easier to relax and just play baseball when you're happy."

"Really? I've done that for you? Made you happy?" Tim's voice is soft and a little uncertain.

"Yes," Buster says, sliding up the bed until they're face to face. "You have."

When Tim leans in for a kiss, it's sweet, almost chaste. "That means...knowing that means a lot to me."

The next week is kind of a repeat of the week before, trading the division lead back and forth with the Padres. All of a sudden people are fearing Romo and Wilson's beards, wondering who the Machine is--Buster knows and really doesn't like to think about it too much--and talking about Huff's rally thong--something else Buster tries not to think about. And Buster? Buster's hitting home runs. He can't help remembering the conversation he had with Tim about whether being involved with a vampire would enhance his performance or not. There are times when he feels Tim watching him, when it's almost like a physical touch, but it doesn't always result in hits.

Tim feeding off him doesn't seem to make a difference either. He's careful about it, never taking too much before a game. They're not so careful when it comes to sex; Tim continues to trust that Buster will tell him if it's too much. Buster never does because it's simply not an issue. He can play as well after a night with Tim as he can after a night spent alone and that's all that matters. Not that he spends many nights completely alone; Tim usually stays until Buster falls asleep.

They roll into Chicago in first place after a win over the Brewers. The schedule is being good to them; they have an off day just one week after the last one. It's late when they get in and all Buster wants to do is go up to his room and see Tim. Tim'll be hungry, he thinks as he waits to get his room assignment. With tomorrow's off day ahead of them, Buster's hoping Tim will spend the night. Maybe he can get Tim to fuck him tonight and then again in....

"Hey."

Buster blinks and rubs the spot on his bicep where Huff punched him.

"C'mon, we're going to dinner," Burrell says to the guys around him. "And then I wanna see if we can get Baby Face here drunk."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Buster says. "Since I'm not going with you."

Burrell frowns a little and Buster realizes that he's broken an unwritten rule. Normally rookies just tag along when the veterans go out; to actually be asked is an offer you really shouldn't refuse. Bum, who knows damn well why Buster doesn't want to go out, shoots him a look.

"What, are you afraid?" Huff says and Buster knows he's got to give in.

"No. But I'm still not gonna drink."

Thankfully, when Buster goes up to dump his stuff in his room, Tim's not there, given his habit of pouncing first and talking later. It's easier to say no, to change their plans, without Tim's body pressing him into a wall.

"I'm sorry," Buster says into his phone after he's told Tim what's going on. "But I really can't get out of this."

"No, and you shouldn't try," Tim says. "It's probably just as well; I should take Pam and Larry up on their standing invitation. I need to be a little careful on my side of things as well."

"Okay," Buster says, because he hadn't really thought of that. "Um...look, I have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"Should I...the guys really want to get me drunk again. And maybe I should? I mean not like Milwaukee...."

"You know how I feel about you offering blowjobs to people."

Buster can't help laughing. "Hey," he says. "Bum's not pitching tomorrow...."

"Seriously," Tim says. "What do you think?"

"I think I should. The way this team's going, the way we're pulling together, I can't mess with that."

It's weird. It seems so calculated--deciding beforehand to get to get drunk like that. Team chemistry is supposed to just happen, but now that Buster thinks about it, he's always been like this. Maybe it's being a catcher or maybe it's just being himself. That, he thinks while he washes up, is why he likes giving up control to Tim. Turning off that part of his brain--or more like having Tim turn it off for him--is fucking scary, but more and more, he's realizing how just much he needs it.

Even if he hadn't planned on getting drunk, it probably would have happened anyway. It's a concerted team effort and Buster can't help feeling a little betrayed when Bum and Kersahw just lean back and laugh. So Buster makes sure he eats enough and drinks plenty of water in between the tequila shots they're doing.

"I fucking hate ya'll so fucking much," he says as he lets Bum help him across the lobby. Kershaw and Cainer are with them and Buster glares at them. "All ya'll."

"We love you too," Cain says, with a hiccup. Before he first went drinking with Cain, Buster never knew anyone who actually gets the hiccups when they're drunk.

It's funny, he thinks with a giggle. _Just like me with the giggles._ He giggles again.

"Jesus," Bum mutters, his accent so thick Buster can barely understand him. "Somebody film this fucker."

"Yeah, no. That's not fair," Kershaw says and then he's laughing as Buster reaches out and weakly punches him on the arm.

"You're a real friend, not like this fucking asshole."

"Gonna drop you on the floor...."

It's a lot like Milwaukee, with Bum walking Buster down the hall to his room. Only this time, they don't meet Tim in the hall. Instead, he's waiting in Buster's room--lounging in a chair watching something on TV.

"Fuck," Bum mutters when, all of a sudden, Tim's in front of them.

"He'll do that," Buster says. "S'okay. Not gonna bite you." He giggles again as Bum shoves him into Tim's arms. "Better not anyway."

"You owe me," Bum says. "Like, a lot."

Buster's not sure if Bum's talking to him or Tim, but Tim's the one who answers. "Yes, we do," he says and then pauses for a second. "Thank you, Madison."

"Um, sure."

"I," Buster says, after Bum leaves. "I was good...didn't offer anyone head. But I'm pretty wasted."

"I would never have guessed."

"Could offer you head," Buster says, pulling away from Tim a little.

Before he can slide to his knees, Tim stops him. "Not now."

Buster scowls at him. "Why not?"

"Because, as you just said, you're very drunk."

Tim sounds like an very patient adult talking to a kid and Buster pulls away from him. "Your loss," he says, heading for the mini fridge. Someone, probably Tim, put some Powerade in it, and, as annoyed with Tim as he is, Buster appreciates the gesture. "I'm so fucking good when I'm drunk," he says after drinking off half the bottle.

"Buster," Tim says and now he sounds just a little more uncertain.

Grinning, Buster licks his lips and finishes the rest of the bottle in a hurry. "Take you all the way in...all the way down," he says, licking his lips again. "Lemme do it...c'mon Tim."

Tim comes further into the room. "I really don't know," he says, but he sits down on the bed.

"You know you want my mouth all over your dick." Keeping his eyes on Tim, Buster goes down, first into his crouch and then forward onto his knees. When he puts his hands on the floor and starts crawling toward Tim, Tim sucks in a deep breath and stares at him, his eyes wide. His reaction is enough to keep Buster moving--submissive or not, he never thought he'd do this. It's the tequila, he tells himself.

"Lemme," he says again as he kneels up between Tim's legs. "Please, Tim," he adds. "Wanna suck it...wanna suck your cock. Please?"

"Fuck," Tim mutters. He reaches down and unzips his pants, pushing them and his briefs down in a hurry. "How come I can't say no to you?"

"'Cause you love me and you love my mouth." He leans over and breaths over the head of Tim's dick. "And you're gonna give me a minute here, right?"

"A minute?" Tim sounds confused. "For what?"

"Get you all slick," Buster says, licking his way down Tim's cock and then back up again. "Let me work it 'til my throat's ready." He lowers his mouth now and starts sucking--loose and a little sloppy--as he moves his head, going further down each time.

"And now," he says, lifting his head just enough so he can speak. "You're gonna fuck my mouth...cos I can't stop you...." He licks the head of Tim's dick, moaning a little at the taste. "Down here on my knees...can't say no...you put your hands in my hair and I can't get away...."

"No," Tim says, sliding his fingers into Buster's hair. "You can't." He twists his hand and then pushes Buster's head down. He's doing it hard and fast and for a second, Buster panics. But then he's got it all and he's swallowing around the head before Tim pulls back and does it again. And again and again and again, using Buster's mouth while Buster sucks him hard.

When he can tell Tim's close to coming, Buster gets an idea. Pulling back hard against Tim's grip, he almost panics again, not sure Tim will let go. Tim does of course, and says Buster's name. Before he can continue with what's probably an apology, Buster shakes his head.

"Please," he says. "Please Tim, please...please come on me. Want it all over my face...please." Tim stares down at him, his eyes wide, and Buster licks his lower lip. "Please...do it because...."

Tim's hand twists again, and the sharp shock of pain makes Buster gasp. "Because you're mine," Tim says. "Because you're down there and because I can." Reaching out, Tim pulls Buster back by his hair until Buster can feel it a little in his neck. When Tim reaches down with his free hand and starts jerking his cock hard, Buster closes his eyes.

"Please," he says again when he hears the little hitch in Tim's breathing that means Tim's close. "Yours...do it 'cause I'm all yours... _please._ "

All it takes is one more flick of Buster's tongue across his lower lip and then he feels it--hot and wet--as Tim comes on his face. Buster opens his mouth and catches some of it on his tongue and Tim's hand goes even tighter in Buster's hair. "Fuck," Tim mutters. "Mine; you're all mine."

Even after Tim's done, they stay like that, and then Tim lets go of Buster's hair and drops to his knees. "Down," he says to Buster, putting a hand on Buster's chest. Buster twists, somehow moving off his knees so he can lie back on the floor. As Tim starts undoing Buster's jeans, Buster's suddenly aware of just how hard he is, how much he need to come.

He expects Tim to jerk him off, but instead, Tim's hands clamp down on Buster's hips, pressing him against the floor. Buster has just enough time to register the feel of the carpet rough on his bare ass and then Tim's leaning over him. "Be still," Tim says.

"Huh...oh fuck!" Buster yelps as Tim's mouth slides down over his dick. Tim doesn't go down all that far, but his mouth's wet and really hot and just like that, Buster's close to coming. Tim's fingers are digging into his hips so Buster can't move up when Tim pulls his mouth back. Just as he's about to start begging again, Tim licks the underside of Buster's dick.

"There's a vein," Tim says. "Right here."

As real fear twists in Buster's stomach, Tim lowers his head again. When Buster feels his mouth and not his teeth, the relief that washes through him is enough to push him over the edge. Only Tim's tight grip on him keeps him from shoving his dick into Tim's mouth as he comes _hard._

After, while Tim washes his face off with a nice warm, wet cloth, Buster lies on the floor, not sure he'll ever be able to move again. He feels heavy and loose, like he's just climbed out of a pool after a long swim, and he doesn't complain at all when Tim picks him up and carries him to the bed. Tim bats his hands away as Buster tries to help Tim get his clothes off.

"Stay," Buster says, his voice slurred. "Want you to fuck me...feed off me...in the morning."

"I'll stay," Tim says.

"Love you," Buster says even as he slides down into sleep. If Tim replies, he doesn't hear it.

It's still pretty dark in the room when Buster wakes up and stumbles into the bathroom. When he comes out, Tim makes him drink some more Powerade and gives him some pills to take. "You're awesome," Buster mumbles as he settles back down in bed.

"So are you," Tim says and kisses him lightly. "Now go back to sleep."

"Mmmmkay."


	9. Chapter 9

September 20, 2010 -- September 23, 2010

 

The next time Buster wakes up, there's light at the edges of the curtains but a quick glance at the clock tells him it's only 7:30. He frowns, there was something he needed to remember.

"Kershaw," he says, sitting up.

"And here I thought Bumgarner was your one and only," Tim says.

Buster blinks at him. "No, he's gonna bang on the door any minute now." Fumbling for his phone, Buster explains. "He only had a couple beers last night and he's a morning person. We're supposed to...I dunno, do something today."

Thankfully, he gets Kershaw's voice mail. After leaving a message, he drops the phone next to him on the bed and leans back into the pillows. "Guess I should have said good morning first."

"I think you had your priorities right," Tim says with a laugh. "I don't need my ace catching me in your room." He bends down and kisses Buster. "And I've got reasons to want you to stay here instead of going out."

"Mmmmm hmmm." Buster kisses Tim back.

"How're you feeling?"

Buster things about it for a moment. "Not bad," he says, a little surprised. "Did you give me something in the middle of the night?"

"Powerade and a handful of ibuprofen." Tim laughs. "You told me I'm awesome."

"You are." He thinks about kissing Tim again and then winces; his teeth feel like they have sweaters on them. "I really really need to brush my teeth, though."

Tim's still lounging in bed when Buster comes out of the bathroom. Leaning in the doorway, Buster just looks at him for a moment. "Last night," he finally says. "That all happened, didn't it?"

"Depends, on what you mean by all." Tim sounds cautious. "Come here?"

Buster's face is hot as he settles down in bed again. "I do know what happened, but for a minute, remembering it felt like remembering one of my dreams about you." Pausing, he thinks it over. "Was it okay?"

Tim just looks at him. "And people say there are no stupid questions." He laughs. "Buster, you surprised the hell out of me, in a really good way."

"Yeah? I don't even know why...well, no, I do. I don't know if I could have crawled across the room if I hadn't been drunk, though."

"Too much?"

"Yes and no. I mean, yeah, I'm submissive with you. And to say that crawling was almost too kinky is kind of ridiculous. I mean I got off on it when you held me down and I told myself you weren't going to let go. I always get off on it when you scare me. Crawling seems kind of tame, you know?"

"Perhaps," Tim runs a hand down Buster's back. "But if it was a problem, if anything we do is a problem, talk to me about it. Please?"

"I will," Buster says. "And...look, I know you said you like that I want it, that I'm so needy...."

"You're not needy."

"I am when we're having sex."

Tim's quiet for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you are. So am I, when you think about about it."

Buster can't help laughing. "I hadn't thought of it that way. But what I was trying to say was--if I ask for too much, if I go down so hard it freaks you out, you have to say something."

"I will." Tim laughs a little. "This is more complicated than I expected."

"It's okay, we'll figure it out," Buster says. "But now...we don't have to play those games every time. Right now, I just want you to fuck me." He reaches up and runs his thumb across the pulse point on his neck. "I want you to feed off me."

Tim takes his time getting Buster ready, but this time Buster's willing to lie back and wait. Maybe it was the way things went the night before, but for once, Buster doesn't feel that sense of overriding urgency. Tim seems to feel the same way; he keeps pausing to kiss Buster or to touch him. After a while Buster totally loses track of time and he's pretty sure Tim has too.

Buster's so slick and so ready that, when Tim finally pushes into him, it's easy to take it. There's no burn, no stretch, just a slow, steady, sweet pressure as Tim's cock moves into him. They fuck like that, nice and easy, for what feels like hours. Buster keeps pulling Tim down for another kiss and Tim keeps stopping to let him. "Love you," Buster says at one point and Tim stops again and just looks down at him.

"Love you too," he says. "I need you; you know that, right?"

"Yes," Buster says. "I know." He pulls his knees back and they're fucking again, a little faster this time. They speed up even more when Buster brings his legs up even higher, wrapping them around Tim's waist. Even like that, it still takes forever for the urgency to really build up. Finally Tim pulls back and Buster can see the need in his face.

"Oh God," he says as Tim bends down. "Yeah Tim...need you to take it."

"Buster," Tim says, his mouth against Buster's neck. "Buster...."

This time there's no pain when Tim's fangs sink into his vein. There's still that little thrill of fear when his blood starts to flow, though, and he still sees red behind his eyes as Tim takes what he needs. And just like it always is, when he comes, it's good but not as good as the feel of Tim taking his blood. "Yours," he gasps out, because that can't change; it never will. "Yours."

"Mine," Tim says, his voice low and rough. He keeps his mouth pressed to Buster's skin as he shudders and then comes. "All mine...."

Even when he knows Tim's done. Buster's slow to move his legs down. When he does, Tim licks his neck, but he keeps his mouth pressed against Buster's skin and stays like that for another long moment.

Maybe it's the way they took it so slow or maybe it's that Tim took more blood than he has before or maybe it's just the remnants of a hangover, but Buster's eyelids are already heavy when Tim moves off him. He yawns broadly and then starts to apologize.

"Shhhh," Tim says. "It's okay; go to sleep if you need to."

"Don't think I can help it...."

"Then don't try." Tim leans down and kisses him. "Thank you."

"Mmmm...you too."

* * *

Some unknown time later, Buster's phone wakes him up. "Huh?" he says, squinting to see who's calling.

"Ya'll still asleep?" Bum asks. "Dude, even I'm awake now."

"Timizzit?"

"One," Tim says from across the room at the same time Bum says it on the phone.

"You hungover?"

"What do you think?" Buster says, blinking as he tries to wake up. "You're the one who sat there and laughed while Huff and Burrell got me wasted. You fucker."

"Yeah well, I don't think you're hungover at all," Bum says. "I think you spent all night fucking."

"Did you just say that?"

"Yeah, I dunno why. Don't tell me."

"We did though. Twice," Buster says. "The first time...."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"You gonna leave me alone if I do?"

"Kershaw wants to go..I dunno what he wants. Wander around Chicago I guess. Like LA."

"Lemme call you back." Before Bum can answer, Buster ends the call.

"Could you guys maybe stop drafting annoying pitchers?"

"Yeah, I'll mention it to Sabean." Tim says with a laugh as he comes over and sits on the bed next to Buster. "I ordered sandwiches," he adds.

"You say the nicest things." Buster sighs. "I just wanna stay in bed all day long."

"So why don't you? Bumgarner knows you get hungover."

"Fucker," Buster says, more out of habit than anything. "I should go out with them, though."

"Them? Kershaw too, I take it?"

"Yup. If it were just Bum I'd tell him to fuck off, but Kershaw's been really cool about me coming in and taking over." For a moment, Buster almost asks about the Molina trade, but he thinks better of it. He really doesn't want to know what if anything, Tim had to do with that.

"You and he work well together," is all Tim says.

"So yeah, I'm gonna go out, but I'm not letting anyone drag me off to some bar after dinner. Well, unless you have plans."

"Only for the afternoon." Tim pauses and then shakes his head. "I'll tell you tonight."

* * *

It's mid afternoon by the time they leave the hotel room. Bum and Kershaw are hungry and, in spite of the sandwiches he ate before leaving his room, so's Buster. They eat deep dish pizza and then end up walking along Lakeshore Drive. It's pretty and the weather's nice. As much as Buster didn't want to leave the hotel, he's glad he did. He's not the vampire, he thinks with a mental smile. He likes being out in the sunshine.

They get recognized, but it's not like LA at all. They're walking along when a couple coming toward does the "do we know who you are?" double take. They're both wearing Cubs gear and when they finally meet up, the woman looks at Buster and shakes her head. "Go easy on us this series, okay?"

Buster's not sure what to say; he isn't used to being the one people recognize. "Sorry," he says with a little smile. "But we're in a pennant race. We really need to win some games."

The woman laughs. "I'd say I know what's that like, but I've been a Cubs fan forever."

"Ya'll have been in the postseason," Bum says. "Like a few years ago, right?"

"Yeah and that went so well," the guy says with a rueful smile.

"It'll go better next time," Kershaw says. "You guys have tickets for this whole series? Because if you don't...."

"We've got season tickets," the woman says. "But thanks." She smiles at Buster one more time before they move on.

"That was weird," Buster says.

"Get used to it," Kershaw says. "There isn't a baseball fan out there who doesn't know who you are." He nudges Buster in the ribs. "And all the ladies think you're cute."

"Shut up," Buster says and yeah, he's probably blushing again.

They run into Cain in the hotel lobby and all end up going out for dinner together.

"Damn," Bum say, watching as Buster starts in on his steak. "Would you believe he ate like, most of a pizza a couple hours ago?"

"Yeah, because you're not always stuffing your face," Buster says. Everyone laughs, but Cain gives Buster a funny look before he changes the subject.

Buster's sure he was just imagining things, but no, once they reach the hotel, Cain says something about scouting reports. "I want to check something," he says. "Mind coming up to my room for a few?"

"Okay," Buster says, because there's always a chance Cain does want to talk about tomorrow's game.

"You've been eating a lot," Cain says the minute the door closes behind them. "Like a whole lot."

"That's what you want to talk about?"

Cain tilts his head a little and looks at Buster. "Yeah. You are, aren't you?" he says sounding more resigned than angry. "With Mr. Lincecum."

Buster remembers what Tim said, how Cain might guess. "Yeah," he says, bracing for another lecture about what a mistake he's making. To his surprise, Cain just nods.

"Can't say I'm surprised," Cain says. "He hasn't been with anyone since I joined the team and I don't think he's ever been with a player. But the way he used to look at you, like I said, I'm not surprised."

"He um...told me I could tell you if I needed to talk to someone."

"Well, now that I know, do you need to talk?"

"You're not going to tell me I'm being stupid?"

"Buster, you couldn't be stupid if you tried," Cain says with a laugh. "Until Bum said something about how much you eat, I hadn't really put it together. And most people don't know about the hunger thing."

Even as Cain says it, Buster remembers why Cain knows and he has to fight down a brief surge of anger. And Cain thinks he can't be stupid.

If Cain notices, he doesn't mention it. "As long as you're both careful, I don't see anything wrong with it."

"Really?" Buster can't help being skeptical. "Nothing wrong with a gay player sleeping with the owner?"

"You might be the only one in the show who's actually sleeping with his team's owner, but you're not the only gay player I know. Not by a long shot."

"Oh," Buster says. "I mean I figured, but I don't know who."

"Do you want to? Because I know...see, there's a group of guys around the bigs who kind of look out for each other. I don't know who sleeps with who, but there's some of that going on too. I can give you a couple of names, but I don't know if you really want people knowing just yet."

It's tempting, just because it'd be nice to talk to guys who, unlike Bum, understand what Buster's going through. Guys who have been there. Only, he thinks, none of them have been where he is. "Right now?" he says. "No. Not right now. There's too much...." He pauses and takes a deep breath.

"Hey," Cain says. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just...." He looks at Cain almost helplessly. "This is my rookie year."

"It's a lot to deal with, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Buster says. "You could say that. This whole year...I keep thinking I'm going to wake up in my apartment in San Jose or a hotel room in Salt Lake or Lancaster or some damn place."

"Hell of a dream."

"No kidding." Buster gives Cain a look. "The scouting reports?"

"Nah, I'll catch up with you tomorrow. We good?"

"Yeah," Buster says. "We are."

* * *

"I just worry," he says to Tim. "Now two guys know. What happens when more people know?"

"I don't know," Tim says. "But Cain won't be a problem, so for now, don't worry about it.

"I'll try not to." Buster pauses for a minute. "So what did you end up doing today?" he says as he pulls a Coke out of the mini fridge. Once he's got it, he kicks his shoes off and looks around. The bed's too soft, but one of the chairs looks big enough and sturdy enough, so he settles on it and goes into his squat, balancing on the balls of his feet.

Tim just looks at him for a moment. "You look like a gargoyle."

"Huh? Oh, this. Get used to it; I sit like this all the time. Gotta keep my legs stretched out."

With a nod, Tim stretches back in his own chair. "I visited Nate's daughter this afternoon."

"Oh," Buster says, not sure what to make of that. "I remember you saying he went to Chicago after you split up."

"Yes. We kept in touch."

"Is that common?" Buster's not sure how he feels about that.

"Some people do, most don't. Nate and I were still business partners when we ended things after the War." Tim looks into the distance like he does sometimes, but this time he keeps talking. "I went to England for a couple years, but we wrote to each other and then, when I came back to San Francisco, we talked on the phone a lot."

"Did you ever see him again?"

"No," Tim says. "It's not fair. The pull would always be there and I'm always gonna like like I'm twenty-five."

That hadn't occurred to Buster and he wonders what it'll be like as he gets older and Tim never changes. He'll worry about it later, he thinks. No point in fretting now.

"But I met his daughter, Kathy, when she came out to California to go to Stanford. It's a weird friendship--James thinks it's very odd--but we get along. I usually see her a couple times a year--and always when the team plays the Cubs."

"Does she like baseball?"

"No, basketball's her sport. She thinks baseball is boring." Tim shakes his head. "We joke about it."

"Well, Chicago's a good town if you like basketball," Buster says once he realizes Tim's not going to say anything more.

"I'm sorry, this has to be strange for you. I don't know why I dropped it on you like that."

"For me? I was just thinking that it has to be weird for you."

"If Nate and I had actually been in love, maybe."

"Now see, that's what I find strange, " Buster says, speaking quickly so he doesn't lose his nerve. "I can't imagine doing this...long term I mean if I didn't...if we didn't...."

"We liked each other," Tim says, after a moment. "He was an easy person to be with, kind of quiet and a little reserved. It took me a while to realize he was even interested and even then...it wasn't a big passionate thing, like it is with you. We only had sex when I was actually feeding off him and that was enough for both of us."

Buster can't imagine it being enough for him. "Was it like that with Yvonne too?"

"Yvonne was a working girl--a prostitute," Tim says, all matter of fact, like he's saying she was a waitress or something. "At first, it was all business. Not that anyone let me pay for it."

"Um...really?" Buster's sure his eyes are a little wide

Tim chuckles. "When I first moved to the city, right after the Quake, it was still a pretty wide open, wild place. Once I was there, once people knew who I was, the madams all made it clear that I'd be welcome in their houses. I mean, they would have done the same if I'd been any rich man, but the difference was that I didn't have to pay for anything. Of course, having me as a patron was good advertisement, so I just tipped big and bought presents for the girls and the madams."

"So it wasn't one girl at first?" Buster can't help thinking of saloons in Westerns and dancing girls in satin and corsets. The idea of Tim with a girl like that is odd. Maybe it was different in the cities.

"Not for about a year. Then Yvonne showed up at Madam LeClerc's house and we really got along. All of a sudden, she was the only girl I spent time with so when I started getting possessive, I paid her contract with Madam off and set Yvonne up in her own townhouse. It meant a lot to her, having her own place."

"Instead of living with you?"

"She'd been on the streets since she was fifteen," Tim says. "To have a door she could shut, to have something that was hers...it was the best thing I could do for her."

Buster's silent for a moment, because it's a lot to take in. "What happened to her?"

"She wanted to be an actress so we went East--remember how I told you I hung out with vaudeville people in New York? That's why. Yvonne made a career out of it; she was really funny. If you like, I've got some pictures and some old playbills I can show you when we get back to the city. I have pictures of Nate too."

"I think I'd like that." Buster looks down at his Coke bottle. "What do we have in common? Me and Nate and Yvonne?"

When he looks back up, Tim is frowning a little but not at Buster. "I've never really...."

"Sorry."

"No, it's all right." After a moment, Tim continues. "Not looks. Nate was blond and thin and very ordinary. He would have made a good spy or detective, the kind of guy no one looks twice at. Yvonne was..well, originally she had mousy brown hair, but she dyed it red most of her life. And she was curvy, a little too curvy to be fashionable today. She had a sweet face, more pretty than beautiful." He pauses again.

"Competence," he finally says. "Nate was very good with numbers and he could read the market well; he got rich and he made me even richer. Like I said, Yvonne was a great comic actress and she was very good at making men feel like they had her full attention--in bed or out of it. And you...well, you already know how good a player you are. Now that I think about it, most of the people I like are good at what they do and are even passionate about it."

Tim gets out of his chair and settles on the bed. "All of you are strong--emotionally, I mean. I think you have to be if you're going to be with one of us. Otherwise you just get lost, if that makes sense."

"It does," Buster says as he puts his Coke down before joining Tim on the bed.

"When you're feeding off me, I always feel like I don't ever want to do anything else or be anywhere else. Like you said way back that first night, at that point, I don't want to leave."

"Some vampires want that all the time," Tim says. "They really do want pets."

"But you don't."

"But I don't. You're mine and we both want you to be mine, but when we go out into the world, you're your own person. And if I asked you to choose between me and baseball, we both know what you'd choose."

"It wouldn't be an easy choice," Buster says, surprising himself.

Tim reaches up and rests a hand on Buster's neck, his thumb rubbing against the place he always bites. "I'll never ask."

* * *

Buster's a little tired the next day; he goes one for four, but that one is a home run. Cain's brilliant, the bullpen is perfect and Buster's run is the only one they need, which is good because it's the only one they get. It keeps them in first place and anyone who's saying they're not paying attention to the standings is lying. Which pretty much amounts to the entire team, Buster included. It's not something they're going to talk about with the press, not when they hardly talk about it among themselves.

Tim's careful with Buster that night; he feeds off him, but doesn't fuck him. Buster kind of wants him to, but since he falls asleep almost immediately after Tim feeds, maybe it's just as well. At least he wakes up before Tim leaves.

"I never," he says, yawning. "Last night I mean."

"Are we keeping score?"

"No, but it's not fair." Buster rolls over and pushes at Tim's hip. "Or do you not want a blow job?"

"Now that you put it like that...."

The next night, Buster avoids a sombrero only because he flies out once. The rest offense is completely dead too; he's not the only one who can't buy a hit. It's frustrating because Sanchez is good, but without any run support, the two runs he gives up decide the game. On top of it all, the Padres win out in LA.

"Tell him to back off," Bum says as they head toward the elevator.

"Huh?"

"You're looking fucking gassed out there."

"He has nothing to do with that," Buster says with a scowl. "I'm not gonna fucking homer every night and anyway, it's not like he's doing anything with the rest of the team."

"Rest of the team ain't catching me tomorrow. I need to win this fucking game."

Buster feels like a whiny kid when he tells Tim what Bum said. "You're gonna say he's right."

"You know he is or you wouldn't have said anything to me."

"I'm _fine_."

"I know, but I've been selfish the last couple of days and that needs to stop. I haven't been all that hungry; I'm just feeding because you're right here. Well, and because you taste so fucking good."

"Will you stay anyway?" Buster asks, because this isn't an argument he can win and now that he thinks about it, he has to agree with Tim and Bum.

"Of course," Tim says. "I'm not just in this for your neck, tempting as it is."

"I know that." He sounds more annoyed than he really is but Tim just looks at him curiously. "Sorry, I'm being a jerk."

"In spite of this incredible tear you're on, you can't homer every night."

"That's exactly what I told Bum, but...." Buster sighs. "You know how I am."

"I do," Tim says. "What was it I said the other day? Passionate about what you do?"

He kisses Buster then and even though Buster really wants it, Tim stays away from his neck. He doesn't fuck Buster either, which Buster thinks is maybe taking this whole resting thing a little too far, but then Tim's got his hand wrapped around Buster's dick and Buster stops thinking at all.

Buster's still kind of tired the next day, but then Renteria pulls them--just the players, no coaches to be seen--into a corner of the clubhouse. It's his last year, he says, and he knows he hasn't been able to play much, but he believes in this team, believes in everyone on it, and he wants to help. If they can get him there, he says, he thinks he's got one last post-season in him. He wants to do it for them, for all of them, with all of them.

It's incredibly emotional; by the time he's done, Renteria's not the only one with tears in his eyes. Buster feels like a jerk, all caught up in his own life. He's got a whole career ahead of him but Edgar doesn't and who knows if Uribe will be with the team next year? He looks around and, sure he's heard this isn't supposed to be their year--that the team is built for next year or even 2012--but fuck that, he thinks. He feels the same way Edgar does. He wants to win with this group of guys, these guys the press are already dismissing before the post season even starts. The guys they're calling castoffs and misfits--the good ol' boys and the Latinos and the party people who all, somehow, find a way to win even when they shouldn't.

He goes into the game all fired up and when he comes up in the first with the bases loaded, he's thinking maybe this is his chance to win the game. Right here, right now--give Bum four runs and then call a good game. So, of course, because baseball's like that, he grounds into a double play and the Cubs get out of the inning giving up just the one run.

"S'allright," Bum says as they get ready to take the field for the bottom of the first. "If Cainer can do it with one run so can I."

And then, in the top of the second, all hell breaks loose in what has to be the weirdest inning Buster's ever been involved in. Maybe the weirdest he's ever seen because Uribe getting two home runs isn't the most amazing thing that happens. For Buster it's kind of a toss up as to what's weirder, because how often does the same guy get hit by a pitch twice in the same inning? Then again, Bum gets two hits in the inning, which Buster's pretty sure doesn't happen all that often either.

All in all, it's awesome and when the dust settles, it's a nine run inning and the Giants don't look back from there. Instead of letting the massive lead make him lazy, Bum takes advantage of it and gets nine strikeouts in seven innings. The bullpen comes in and preserves the shutout and the whole team is buzzing as they get on the bus for the trip to the airport.

"Funny thing," Bum says. "All I needed was that one run you got me in the first."

"So you'll give up those two hits and the run you scored?" Buster asks.

"Fuck. You."

Tim's on the charter with them to Denver and Buster has to force himself not to watch him, not to track his every move. He and Bum don't warrant their own row so they sit together and listen to each other's travel playlists. As always, it reminds Buster of the minors; everything's bigger and shinier up here in the show, but in the end, it's a travel day just like the ones in the minors and in college and even high school. He nudges Bum at one point.

"Huh?"

"We made it," Buster says and immediately feels stupid, because what the hell? They've been big leaguers for months now.

The feeling only lasts until Bum grins at him. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, we did."

Because of the Cubs and their stupid night game schedule--seriously, a night game on a getaway day? what the hell?--it's late when they land in Denver. Buster knows they should rest, but when Zito invites everyone to his suite, Buster surprises himself by joining the party. He's never done that before, but he's still feeling that sense of camaraderie from earlier. It's kind of like a college party--beer and pizza and weed, but there's also Burrell's bottle of expensive scotch and some sake along with a ton of sushi Zito ordered.

No one tries to get Buster to smoke, but he does try the sake.

"I dated this girl," Burrell says, just as Buster takes his first sip. "She loved sake; said it tasted like come."

Thing is, Buster thinks, once he stops choking, it kind of does. For some reason, he and Bum look at each other and start laughing.

"What?" Huff demands.

"Only Burrell," Bum says. "Who the fuck else would say shit like that?"

"I thought I was gonna die," Buster says once he and Bum leave the party.

"Well," Bum says with a laugh. "It does taste like it, don't it?"

"How do you know?"

"Doesn't everyone try it at least once? And anyway, I sometimes kiss Ali...ya know, after."

Buster blinks. "Huh."

"You never done that?"

The elevator's empty, but Buster still feels like he should look around.

"I blew guys in bars, you moron. It wasn't about kissing."

"Oh. And now I guess he's sucking something else."

"Jesus, Bum. Why do you keep sayin' shit like that?"

"I really dunno." Bum shakes his head. "Not like I want an answer."

It's kind of funny really; Buster's pretty sure Bum's trying to treat him like one of the guys. To Buster's surprise, he appreciates it, but he's not about to say that to Bum. "Yeah well, he's blown me a couple times."

"Argh." Bum bangs his head against the elevator wall.

"You asked, dumbass."

They're on the same floor, but they reach Buster's room first. "Bum," Buster says as he reaches for his key card. "You were good out there today."

"Well, shit...." Bum ducks his head.

"Night," Buster says before Bum can say anything else.

His room's empty and quiet, but even as he's wondering where Tim is, he gets the oddest feeling. It's like something is moving in his head, like if he turns just the right way....

Tim's about to knock on his door.

"Okay," Buster says as he opens the door. "This is weird."

"What's weird?" Tim reaches out and pulls Buster in for a kiss. "What's weird?" he says again when he finally steps back.

"I knew you were outside my room just now. Like...really knew."

"That happened kind of quickly," Tim says. "Probably because it's been pretty intense the last week or so. Between us, I mean."

"Do you know where I am?"

"Not always. I might have known you were up in Zito's suite earlier, but since you texted and told me where you were, it's hard to say. Most of the time I'm concentrating on you, it's during a game. That isn't a problem is it?"

"I think I maybe noticed it once today," Buster says, replaying the game over in his head. "When I was running the bases after that homer in the third." He pauses. "I notice it more when I'm batting than when I'm catching. And to be honest, it was more of a distraction before we started this."

"Let me know if it's a problem." Tim kisses Buster again. "Speaking of problems...it's late. Should I go?"

"Nah," Buster says. "Boch canceled practice tomorrow because we got in so late."

"So you all promptly went upstairs and partied."

"Yeah," Buster says with a little laugh. "They're doing a good job of corrupting me."

"I'm not sure I like that. I'm supposed to be the only one doing that." Tim maneuvers them toward the bed and then pushes Buster down on it. "You smell like reefer. Did you end up smoking?" he asks as he settles on top of Buster and nuzzles his neck.

"Reefer? Seriously?" Buster laughs. "No, I didn't. But I had sake for the first time." He thinks about telling Tim what Burrell said, but no; that's team stuff. "I'd rather you corrupted me; you're better at it."'

"You say the nicest things."


	10. Chapter 10

September 24, 2010 -- October 2, 2010

Their first game in Colorado sees Kershaw take a perfect game into the bottom of the sixth. He's calm all through it, but Buster starts stressing once he realizes what's going on in the bottom of the fourth. It's stupid, because what's four innings? But he keeps it to himself and lets the world narrow down to the rhythm of the game and the steady smack of the ball into his glove. Seth Smith's hit comes as a genuine surprise to him, but Kershaw shrugs it and the resulting run off.

"It'll happen someday," Tim says later that night. "Maybe it won't be Kershaw, but you'll call at least one no-hitter at least once in your career."

"It's not on me," Buster says and then scowls when Tim laughs. "What?"

"You don't mean that; you take _everything_ on yourself."

"No, just the bad stuff. Good game? That's the pitcher. That run in the sixth? That's me calling the wrong pitch." Buster smiles a little ruefully; he's exaggerating but not by much.

"Sometimes you're remarkably self-aware."

"For what? Someone my age? A ball player? A hick from the ass end of Georgia? A human?"

"All of the above?"

"Why am I in love with you again?" Whatever he'd imagined with Tim before they started this thing, joking around hadn't been part of it. He likes it though; likes that he's found someone to laugh with.

"My very large...fangs."

Buster tilts his head back and rests his hand on his own throat. "They're not doing you any good over there," he says as he rubs his thumb along the big vein in his neck.

"I probably shouldn't," Tim says, his eyes locked on Buster's thumb.

"Probably?" Buster would say more, but Tim's suddenly grabbing his arm.

"Roll over," Tim says and Buster does.

Tim fucks him from behind, each hard, jarring thrust shoving Buster into the pillows. It's just what Buster needs, burning away the stress of the game until all he knows is Tim's cock in him and Tim's fangs at his throat.

* * *

"I really shouldn't have done that last night," Tim says.

"Right, because if you hadn't fucked me like that last night, today wouldn't have been the All Tulo All the Time Show." Buster rolls his eyes. "I haven't really been keeping track, but near as I can tell, I don't play any differently on days after you fuck me."

"You got tired in Chicago."

"You fed off me a _lot_ in Chicago and the guys got me totally drunk that one night," Buster says. "If I'm tired here, it's more likely the altitude. An extra inning didn't help much." He sighs. "Who was telling me just the other day that I'm not going to hit homers every game?"

"You're annoyed."

"Yeah, well, I don't really like losing a game like that, but it wasn't our night."

The next night is their night or more like Cain's night; once again Buster has to deal with the stress of a no-hitter. It's not perfect, but Cain takes it into the eighth before the Rockies finally get a hit. It can't always be like this, Buster tells himself. The show can't always be this much of a roller coaster ride--if it is, how can you keep going?

Because it's fun, he thinks. Because it's awesome. Because they're flying back to San Francisco in first place--for the moment. Because there's a magic number now. Because, roller coaster ride or not, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"I want you to feed off me again tonight," Buster says a couple of hours after they land at SFO. "At least once, maybe twice. I want you to take a lot. I want...I want you to push me hard."

He'd gone back to his place to get some clean clothes and check his mail, but he hadn't lingered there. On the drive over to Tim's he thought about Yvonne and how having her own place had meant so much to her. It's different for him, of course, and maybe in time, he'll want to spend some time away from Tim. Someday, he might need a better balance between his own time, playing time and time with Tim. Not now, though.

"What brought this on?"

"I want to wake up tired and hungry and spend a lazy day doing nothing but eating and having sex." He takes a deep breath and stares out the big window of Tim's living room. "And I want to sleep here every night until the season's over."

"I'm on board with the first part of that, but every night?" When Buster glances behind him, Tim's looking at him with a slightly bemused smiled on his face.

"I just...." Buster turns to look at the Golden Gate Bridge again. "Remember how I said I didn't want to do this alone? I need you to...I dunno, ground me? Anchor me? I want to be with you while we go through this."

He sees a familiar blur out of the corner of his eye and then Tim's standing right next to him. "I understand."

"It's just six more games," Buster says. "But if they're anything like the last three...."

Reaching up, Tim presses a hand over Buster's mouth. "Shhhh," he says. "And get on your knees."

Even as he settles on his knees, Buster can feel the tension of the day, the week, the season melting away, replaced by a different tension, a better tension. Tim doesn't give him much time to adjust; he just undoes his jeans, knots his hand in Buster's hair and pulls Buster down onto his cock. It's rough and scary and Buster has to concentrate hard to keep from choking, but by the time Tim comes, Buster's so hard it almost hurts.

All Tim says, as he crouches down behind Buster and turns him to face the window is, "don't."

Buster doesn't get it until he feels Tim's fangs slicing into his neck. It hurts; Buster's not as ready for it as he normally is. He still wants to come though and he thinks that maybe he could even without Tim's hand on his dick, but that's what Tim meant by "don't." And so he doesn't, even as he feels himself slipping into that same place he always goes when Tim feeds on him--that place where nothing else matters but giving Tim what he needs.

Tim doesn't take much, but he doesn't lick the puncture marks right away either. Buster can feel the blood running down his neck as Tim says, "mine," right in his ear.

"Yours," Buster says with a gasp as Tim finally closes the wound. Then he's licking Buster's neck, his tongue a firm pressure against Buster's skin as he laps up the blood there. It should be gross, but it's really fucking hot; each pass of Tim's tongue makes Buster shiver and moan.

"You're gonna be good for me," Tim says. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah," Buster says, even though he's a little nervous. This is...it's a scene, he realizes; Tim's actually making an effort to top him. And even though it's totally not necessary--it's not like Buster doesn't go down hard for Tim all the time--Buster wants it. Only....

"You'll stop," he says. "If I say...." His voice trails off as he tries to think of a word.

"Red," Tim says. "And yes I will."

Only, when Tim's nuzzling his neck again, he says, "maybe," right against Buster's pulse point. As Buster catches his breath, Tim's hands go tight on his arms. Buster fights it a little; he's not trying all that hard to get away, but it doesn't matter. He could fight with all his strength and get nowhere.

"Are you scared?" Tim asks, pulling Buster back until Buster can feel the heat radiating off Tim's chest even through both their shirts.

"Yeah," Buster says, his breath hitching in his throat. And he is; safeword or no this is pretty frightening.

"You should be."

Buster can't help it--he lets out a yelp when Tim presses a thumb hard against one of his nipples. As Tim starts teasing him--rubbing and pinching Buster's nipple through his shirt--Buster squirms on his lap. "You're so easy," Tim says, starting up on the other nipple.

"For you," Buster says after a loud gasp.

"Only for me."

As Tim keeps playing with Buster's nipples, he nuzzles and nips at Buster's neck until Buster's right on the edge. Never mind that Tim told him not to, he's gonna come; he won't be able to stop it. But just as he feels that heavy, urgent pressure at the base of his spine and in his balls, Tim pulls back.

"No," Buster says, hoping he doesn't sound as whiny as he feels. "Don't stop." He could--he probably should--say please here, but he wants to hold that off too. Tim, he finds himself thinking, is going to have to work for that.

Instead of replying, Tim sits back, slings an arm around Buster's waist and pulls him up onto his feet like Buster doesn't weigh two-twenty. The night time city stretches out in front of Buster--lights stopping abruptly at the edges of the Bay. Tim's city, Buster thinks. Tim has a city and he has a baseball team and now he has Buster too.

"Take your clothes off and turn around," Tim says.

Buster can feel his blush spread halfway down his chest as he does what he's told. His skin gets even warmer as Tim steps back and just looks at him. Tim steps forward and rests a hand on Buster's chest and they stand like that for a moment. In spite of his embarrassment--it's weird that he's completely naked and Tim isn't--Buster stays hard.

He stays that way as Tim grabs his wrist and leads him to the bedroom.

Tim lays him down and works him over until he's right on the edge and then he backs off, lets Buster get things under control, only to do it all over again. It seems like Tim touches him everywhere; Buster's nipples are so sensitive they hurt, his mouth and his neck feel hot and swollen, his dick is leaking steadily and he's slick and open where Tim's been using his fingers. It's like his whole body is on fire when Tim stops and calms him down--as much as Buster can be calmed, which isn't much--a third time. Buster lies there, shuddering and trying to catch his breath while Tim looks at him.

"I know you want to be good for me," Tim says and, Jesus, he's not even breathing hard. "Don't you?"

"Yes," Buster says quickly. "I will...."

"I want you to try to hold back now," Tim says. "If you can't, it's okay, but it'll be so much better if you do."

Before Buster can say anything, Tim takes hold of Buster's arm and brings Buster's wrist up to his mouth. "It doesn't have to be your neck," he says, just before he sinks his fangs into Buster's wrist. He takes more this time--Buster sees the familiar red behind his eyelids and it's almost impossible to think, almost impossible to remember what else Tim wanted from him. But he does, somehow, hold off.

It's close though, really fucking close, and Buster can't help making a noise that isn't--quite--a sob, as Tim lifts his head. Once again, Tim hasn't sealed off the bite mark; he holds Buster's arm up and Buster watches in fascination as blood starts running down his arm. Actually seeing it is the starkest reminder yet of what Tim is and what Buster is, at this moment, to Tim. When he looks up, Tim is staring at his arm, his eyes dark and hooded.

"You," Buster says, his voice shaky. "I'm bleeding for you."

"Buster," Tim snarls before he licks the puncture closed. "My Buster."

It helps, Buster thinks, even as he starts to shiver once Tim starts licking the blood off his arm. It helps to know that Tim remembers who Buster is, that he wants Buster, that not just anyone will do. "Yours," he says, trying to keep it together because this--just Tim's mouth on his skin--is winding him up yet again.

When Tim lets Buster's arm go, he sits there staring at Buster. His cheeks are a little flushed and when he puts his hand on Buster's chest, it's hot. "I'll get you there," he says and then he smiles. "But not yet."

Tim keeps his touch light this time, using his fingertips on Buster's collarbone and the insides of his elbows and then, when he's turned Buster over onto his stomach, on the backs of his knees and the length of his spine. He presses at the insides of Buster's thighs and once Buster's spread his legs, he drips yet more lube on Buster's ass before running his fingers down between Buster's cheeks and then back up again. It doesn't take much; after maybe a minute, Buster's squirming, trying to get Tim to push his fingers--or better yet, his cock--in.

When he _finally_ opens his mouth to say please, he's held back so long it's almost like coming. "Please," he says and then surprises himself. "Please...wanna beg...." It sounds stupid, but Tim's fingers go so tight on Buster's thigh that it hurts.

"Go on then," Tim says. He sounds harsh, almost angry, but Buster knows better. It's like he can feel how much he's getting to Tim. "Let me hear you."

"Please...oh God, please...want it so much." He feels like he's falling, the same way he felt that very first night with Tim. Falling and only Tim can catch him.

"What do you want?"

"Want you to...." Buster spreads his legs a little wider and arches his back. "Please...please...."

"Want me to?" Tim's thumbs are high on Buster's thighs, and Buster can feel them slide across his skin when he presses them against Buster's ass.

"Please," he says. "God...please Tim...I'm so fucking ready...wanna take it...please please give it to me."

"It?"

"You know what I...."

"Tell me, Buster," Tim says, his voice low and steady.

"Your cock...please Tim...gimme your cock...fuck me...need you to fuck me...please!" And now, along with everything else, Buster's gone on the rough, needy sound of his own voice.

Tim settles in between Buster's legs and then grips his hip. "Up," he says with a little tug. Once he's got Buster the way he wants him--head on the pillows with all his weight on his elbows and knees--Tim starts teasing him again.

"Tim," Buster gasps when Tim barely presses his thumb in before pulling it back. "God...I can't...please please...." Without really thinking about it, he slides his knees farther apart. "Please...fuck me...please, Tim!"

"Buster," Tim says and he sounds almost as wrecked as Buster feels. "Look at you...."

Before Buster can think too much about how he looks with his ass in the air like this, he finally-- _finally_ \--feels the head of Tim's cock press against him. Tim's grip on his hips keeps him from moving, so he can't speed things up as Tim moves into him oh so slowly. It's a little like the other night, when Tim took his time, but then again, it's not. Buster doesn't want to take it all slow and easy.

"C'mon, Tim, please," he says once he feels Tim's hips up against his ass. "Hard...please?"

Nothing happens for a moment and then Tim pulls back. "Yeah," he says. "Give it to you so hard...."

And then he's doing just that, his hands loose enough on Buster's hips that Buster can push back to meet each hard thrust. It's loud, but the slap of skin against skin is just one more thing driving Buster crazy. He can feel it building up again and God, he's so fucking close and he needs--he needs to remember something.

"Please," he gasps. "Need to come...Tim...please make me, please let me...."

Tim leans forward and says, "now" right in Buster's ear. And then, just before it happens, Tim's fangs sink into Buster's neck. Buster yells into the pillow and gives it up so hard he can barely remember to breathe. It goes on forever and it's so good, almost too good: Buster's lost in a rush of sensation.

After, Tim's hands on him are the only thing that keeps him from collapsing. Tim's still fucking him and he's still feeding from him and that's all Buster wants now. "Yours," he manages to say and then there's nothing but a roaring in his ears and a wash of red behind his eyes. He's dimly aware of Tim slamming into him one more time, but then everything's going dim and Buster's slipping away.

When Buster comes back to himself, he's curled up on his side and Tim's plastered up against his back, an arm slung around Buster's waist. "Mmmmmm...." He's utterly relaxed and every muscle in his body is loose; he feels like he'd sink right into the bed if it weren't for Tim. "Best ever....."

"Yes," Tim says softly as he kisses the back of Buster's neck. "For me too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. A hundred and fifty years and it's never been like that. No one's ever been like you." His arm tightens around Buster's waist and he pulls him just a little closer.

"Love you too," Buster mumbles. "Think I'm gonna pass out again or something."

"It's okay; I've got you, Buster."

It's still dark when Buster next opens his eyes. He's rolled over onto his stomach, the way he usually sleeps, and Tim's sitting next to him, a hand on the back of Buster's neck. "Time is it?"

"Late," Tim says with a laugh. "Early. Doesn't really matter; you can go back to sleep if you need to."

Buster rolls over and looks up at Tim. "That was amazing...thank you."

"You're thanking me?"

"For giving me what I needed. For pushing me."

"It was a real pain," Tim says with a laugh. "I mean really, who wants to listen to their lover beg for it like that?"

"You." Buster grins at him. "But only if that lover is me."

"No one but you," Tim says. When he shudders a little, Buster gives him a curious look. "I can't even think of being with anyone else. It'd be wrong...they'd taste wrong."

Buster tries to imagine going to a gay bar and just blowing some random guy like he used to. "Yeah, no," he says. "I couldn't with someone else, even if you'd let me."

"Which I wouldn't." Tim rubs his thumb against Buster's neck.

"So, between this and the knowing where you are...it's happening, right?" Before Tim can answer, Buster frowns a little. "Don't ask me if that's a problem or if I regret it, because it's not and I don't."

"I'm not sure I like you knowing me this well," Tim says with a smile. "Do you want something--some kind of formal recognition?"

"Like what?"

"I can't make an announcement to the Council, but I'll tell my family, of course. And I could ask James to visit us, if you like. Some people go in for jewelry or want some words to be said. Like marriage, I guess."

Buster stares up at the ceiling as he thinks about it. "I'd like to meet James someday," he finally says. "But it doesn't have to be a whole meet the in-laws kind of thing, just next time he's here in the US. And...." He sits up and looks at Tim. "You know that I love you, right? And you know that I want to be with you for the long term, right?"

"Yes," Tim says. "And yes."

"I guess I'm not much of a romantic," Buster says. "Because I'm not sure what else needs to be said."

"Some vampires promise to take care of their Companions and to protect them, but I'm not sure you need to hear that. And there's often a discussion about money. Traditionally it's called a dowry because back in the day anyone was involved with or had been involved with a vampire couldn't count on support from anyone."

"Seriously? Like a prenup or something?" When Tim nods, looking vaguely apologetic, Buster just laughs. "Tim, I've already got six million of your dollars in the bank and that's just my signing bonus. Well, six mil minus taxes."

"Given my assets, you'd be entitled to a lot more if you wanted it."

"What the hell for? I'm doing just fine on league minimum."

"You're unreal. Have you even spent any of your bonus?"

"I bought me a truck," Buster says, letting his accent get thick. Then, as Tim laughs, Buster adds, "and I put some money in trust for Jesse and Jack in case they don't get full scholarships like Sam and I did."

"There's nothing you really want for yourself?"

"Not right now," Buster says. "And I'm not going to pretend to be modest; you'll be signing me to a big fat, long term contract sooner rather than later."

"Not me," Tim says. "San Francisco Baseball Associates LLC. There's a difference."

"Oh come on; I took business classes. It's just an LLC for the tax benefits and to reduce your debt liability. All the profits are still yours."

"Well, yes, but it's a little odd for me, you know. Paying your actual salary."

"But it wouldn't be odd setting up an account in my name just because I'm your Companion?" Buster shakes his head. "Vampires don't live in the Twentieth Century let alone the Twenty-First."

"No, we really don't. Yvonne had no problem with me keeping her in style, as the saying went, but Nate considered the loan I made to him before we were together to be enough and even then, he paid it back. Money wasn't an issue with him."

"And it isn't with me. I mean I don't even have to pay for my food on the road."

"If you ever want anything...."

"I'll buy it for myself."

"Oh for God's sake Buster, won't you let me do anything for you? Give you something?"

Tim sounds genuinely annoyed; Buster gives him an apologetic smile. "I don't even know. It's not like you could give me..I dunno, a ring or anything. I wouldn't be able to wear it without people asking about it."

"And it's really not your style, is it?"

"No, not really," Buster says. And then, because Tim still looks a little unhappy, he adds, "I'm sorry?"

"No, I'm just being stupid."

"Well...only a little." Buster slides back down on the bed until he can rest his head on Tim's thigh. "I'm yours, so you feel responsible for me. And I get it; I never expected Kristen to work so I was planning on taking care of her that way."

"But, as you've pointed out, you work." Reaching down, Tim rests his hand on Buster's shoulder. "If I come up with something I really think you'd like, though, I'll give it to you."

"Fair enough," Buster says, smiling up at Tim. "You already have all the cool toys, but who knows, maybe I'll find something for you." He pauses and laughs. "And for all we know, we'll have matching rings come the beginning of next season."

"That's saying a lot, coming from you."

"I know. Back in Chicago, I decided that I want this. I've got to stop pretending that if I think about it, it won't happen."

"Was it something Renteria said?"

"You know about that?" Buster asks with a frown.

"I have no idea what he said. None of us do, we just know he said something. And we know it wasn't for us."

"Good. And yes, it worked. Well on me at least."

They're silent for a while and then Buster sighs. "I can't decide if I'm too hungry to sleep or too sleepy to eat."

"You've got some of those shakes in the fridge."

Buster stays awake long enough to drink a shake and brush his teeth. "You gonna watch me sleep again? Because that's gotta get boring after a while."

"I'll read too," Tim says, holding up his Kindle. "If the light won't bother you."

"Nah, s'okay."

Tim's not in bed when Buster next wakes up. As Buster passes Tim's office on the way to the kitchen, he hears Tim on the phone. "Are they sure? Well, that's something. All right, but we need to figure out what we're going to do...."

Feeling a little weird about listening, Buster moves on down the hall. Tim sounds pretty upset and Buster can't help wondering if it's a team thing or maybe some kind of business deal. It's Monday, he remembers after a moment of thought--mid-morning, according to the microwave clock--so it could be Tim's broker or someone. Not his business, he thinks.

As he's rummaging around in the fridge, he hears Tim come into the room.

"Sit down and I'll make breakfast for you," Tim says and something about the look on his face keeps Buster from asking about the phone call.

"You can cook?"

"Yes, but I have a fairly limited repertoire. I cooked back in the day--in the camps."

"I've been meaning to ask," Buster says, after he realizes what Tim's talking about.

"How the hell was I a lumberjack?" Tim says as he puts a cast iron pan on the stove.

"Well, yeah."

"I get that a lot."

"Sorry."

"No," Tim says with a laugh. "I mean, look at me."

Buster actually does. It still surprises him at times, because Tim's not the kind of guy he used to find hot. For all that he's fairly buff, he's still downright skinny and honestly, Buster thinks he'd look better if he cut his hair. It's too long to do anything with and too short to pull back. He remembers the first time he actually saw Tim and how he thought Tim looked so ordinary. And now....

Now? Buster thinks he's incredibly fucking hot. He's not sure if it's because he's in love with Tim or if the connection has something to do with it. Or maybe he's just really looking now instead of being uncomfortable around Tim.

"I'm looking," he says and something about his voice makes Tim turn around.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Buster says with a smile.

They kind of stare at each other for a moment and then Tim shakes his head. "So," he says, turning to pull something out of the fridge. "I cooked and I was a whistle punk."

"A what?"

"Before there were radios, we used whistles for signaling and runners to keep in touch. I ran my fucking ass off. And then, later on, I did some tree topping."

"Okay, that just sounds dirty."

Tim snickers and then does something at the stove--Buster hears a hiss and then smells meat. And sure, he knew he was hungry, but now he has to swallow hard. "Steak?"

"Yeah. And eggs. There's juice and some fruit in the fridge." Tim waves his tongs at a pink box on the counter. "And some cinnamon rolls."

"God, all I ever do is fucking eat."

"I remember that," Tim says. "Tree topping is climbing trees. Sometimes you're taking branches off, sometimes you're just running ropes up the tree so it's easier to bring it down." He looks over his shoulder. "It's hard work and during some of that time, I was involved with James. So I do know what you're going through."

"You were still logging when you met?"

"Yes. James doesn't invest from an office; if he's interested in something, he's going to check it out himself. Plus he always wants to know how things work." Tim flips the steak over. "Medium rare, right?"

"Yeah. Was it weird?" He pauses and thinks about it what he was about to say and then laughs. "I was gonna ask it it was weird having him look over your shoulder like that, but I pretty much know what that's like."

"I think it might have been a little weirder for me--for all of us--that it was for you. At least you knew going in that you'd be on this team."

"How did you get involved with him?"

Tim's silent while he cooks. Finally, he sets a plate--a big damn steak and three fried eggs--down in front of Buster and takes the seat opposite him.

"This is really good," Buster says after the first couple of bites. It is, but he's also trying to give Tim an out if he wants one.

"I became a logger for a couple of reasons. One, it was one of the only jobs around and two...." He looks away--his lost in time look--and Buster takes the opportunity to pay attention to his food.

"I fell in love," Tim finally says. "His name was Joe--Joseph Francis Xavier O'Bannon--and we met when he was on his way up country to the camp. He talked me into going with him, but he didn't have to try very hard. He was a good man--a lot of butch gay men back then weren't, you know."

"Oh?"

"You saw a lot of guilt that manifested as anger toward their boys. You have to understand that most gay relationships involved a big butch guy and someone who looked like me, so the smaller guys got knocked around some. Joe wasn't like that and he didn't treat me like a girl either. There were some guys in camp who said some stuff and I got into a couple fights because I wouldn't let him to fight all my battles for me." Tim suddenly grins. "I lost those fights, but won some respect, so it worked out in the end."

Buster laughs. "Yeah, I can see that. Were you...were you happy?"

"Yeah," Tim says with a nod. "We went from camp to camp for three years. You'd spend the winter in Seattle blowing all the money you made up in the camps, and then hire on again in spring. Kinda like the miners down here in California who'd make small fortunes and then be back in the hills three months later because they blew it all on booze and women.

"We actually saved some--Joe used to laugh and say we weren't wasting it on women. But we'd still hire on again because there wasn't much else to do. Dock work maybe, or construction, but since neither of us had educations worth speaking of, that was the best we were gonna get. Logging paid better and you didn't have to buy your own food."

"If it was anything like this," Buster gestures with his fork. "You did okay."

"You're eating Sunday breakfast, minus the beans and cornbread." Tim looks at him. "Do you even like beans?"

"Not really, but I do love me some cornbread."

"I'll remember that next time I order groceries."

Tim goes silent again and watches Buster eat. It's a little weird but not as weird as it used to be. Silences with Tim aren't all that weird either; Buster's never felt the need to fill quiet moments up with chatter. Right now, he knows Tim's working through memories and time, and Buster finds himself wondering what it's like for the really old vampires. How lost in time does the German get and what's it like for him to have seen so much time pass?

"Just before James showed up, there was an outbreak of flu in our camp. Some minor variant of influenza, but it's not like there was anything we could do. Joe and five other guys died."

"I'm sorry," Buster says.

"It's almost like a movie or a book," Tim says. "Remembering it, I mean. A good movie where you're really invested in the characters, so you feel something when they die. But it's still distant from yourself, you know?"

Buster nods. "Yeah, I think I get it."

"I really did love him," Tim says. "When James came along, I didn't need someone to protect me any more. By then I was one of the guys, really a member of the team as it were. I suppose you could say he caught me on the rebound, but the fact is, I mostly didn't care. My family...my foster family, I mean. They were all gone except my foster sister and she'd married and moved down here--to Sacramento, actually. So Joe was all I had and then he was gone. He was fucking twenty-seven, you know? We'd planned on...well more time together, at least."

Without really thinking about it, Buster reaches across the table and rests his hand on Tim's. He's not sure if the gesture will be welcome, but Tim just turns his hand up and slides his fingers between Buster's.

"There was still half a season to get through and James stayed the whole time. He was willing to roll his sleeves up and help and since by then he was feeding off me and not anyone else, the guys accepted him pretty fast. I mean, as much as anyone accepts a vampire. When the season ended, we'd built up a connection, so I stayed with him when he went back east. I dunno...like I said, I guess he saw something in me, because he wanted me to get a real education. And then he offered to Turn me and, here I am.

"I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day examining my motives, but...." Tim shakes his head. "It goes beyond the obvious and I really don't know how to explain it."

"Then you don't have to," Buster says. "Just you telling me all this means a lot."

Tim squeezes his fingers before pulling his hand away. "You want more eggs? I've got another steak in here too."

"Seriously," Buster says. "I sleep, I eat--a lot--and I play ball. That's all I do."

"Well, that and have sex."

"That too." Buster grins at him. "Is there any of that wheat bread from last week left?"

"It went bad, but I got more."

"I should make some toast; I need the carbs."

After Buster has toast, some fruit and one of the cinnamon rolls, he and Tim settle in the living room with coffee and the Sunday Chronicle. It's a gorgeous day and Buster gives some vague thought to going for a run, but no, he's earned the right to be lazy.

"Thank you," Tim says after a half hour or so.

"For what?"

"Not asking about that phone call. It's kind of team related, but...."

"It's like Edgar's speech," Buster says. "Not for me. It's okay." And it is, he realizes. If whatever happened was serious enough or had anything to do with the players, they'd be told as a team. Since it's something else, Buster doesn't really want to know. He's got enough to worry about. Sanchez tomorrow and then Kershaw, he thinks, as he runs the D'Back's lineup through his mind. Drew, he thinks. Roberts, Johnson....

"Buster?"

"Wha...huh?" Buster blinks and sits up.

"That's a really comfortable chair, but if you're going to sleep, you really should do it in bed."

"I wasn't...." Buster's voice trails off as he sees that the light in the room has changed. Looks like he's been asleep for at least an hour. "Oh, I guess I was." He stretches, rolling his neck a little.

"I wouldn't have woken you up, but I didn't want you to get too stiff."

"You sure about that?"

Tim laughs. "Well, not that way. Did you have something else in mind?"

"Maybe," Buster says, with a sigh. "You know, I just can't look flirty or suggestive. Like at all."

"Buster," Tim says, shaking his head. "You don't need to flutter your eyelashes at me. All you have to do is lick your lips or maybe bite the bottom one."

"I lick my lips all the time."

"I know and there I am, watching Comcast after the game and you're talking to Amy and it drives me crazy."

"Amy? Seriously?

"No, I'm not jealous of Amy, just...look, at the risk of being crude...."

"God forbid."

"At the risk of being crude, you lick your lips and all l can think about is the way your mouth feels on my dick."

"I'm shocked," Buster says, his tone dry. "That was very crude."

As Tim chuckles, Buster slides off the chair and gets down on his hands and knees. It's not necessarily about being submissive, he thinks as he starts to crawl, although it is. But it's also about the way the little laugh dies in Tim's throat and he stares at Buster, his eyes wide.

"You're unbelievable," Tim says when Buster reaches his chair and kneels up in front of him. When Buster licks his lips and reaches for Tim's fly, Tim slides his hand into Buster's hair. "Really, that's a good look on you. Much better than fluttery eyelashes."

"Kind of hard to do across a crowded room," Buster says. And then Tim's tugging on his hair and Tim's dick is right there, and really, talking is overrated.

* * *

Even though Buster went to sleep around eleven the night before and slept all the way through to noon, he's still a little tired when he gets to the yard. He's a little hungry, but he'd rather deal with that instead of trying to work out with a full stomach.

"Jesus," Madison mutters as Buster straps on his gear to catch Kershaw's side session. "Dial down the just fucked glow, would ya?" Before Buster can say anything, Madison holds up a hand. "I didn't ask!"

Sanchez isn't particularly sharp, but he still only gives up a couple runs before the bullpen comes in and finishes off the game. Buster gets an oh-fer, but he also gets BABIP'd all to hell, so at least he wasn't swinging at ball four or standing there with his bat on his shoulder. But they win without him and that'll do just fine.

He must look tired though, because Bochy pulls him aside right after the game. "I know being behind the dish every game has been rough on you," he says. "You need a day?"

"No, sir," Buster says. "I'm good."

Apparently he sounds convincing because Bochy pats him on the shoulder and heads off to deal with the post-game press barrage.

"Do I really look that tired?" he asks Tim later that night.

Tim leans back in his chair and looks Buster over. "You don't have bags under your eyes or anything. I think Boch was watching you bat."

"Everyone's tired," Buster says. "I think I'd be tired anyway and I'm sleeping more than usual, so I dunno why it's such a big thing."

"Because it's September and you're catching every day." Tim sighs. "Buster, it's okay to be tired."

"I'm being whiny again, aren't I?"

"Well, not whiny." Tim gets up and comes to stand behind Buster's chair. Leaning down, he wraps his arms around Buster's shoulders. "You done with that?"

Buster looks at the jumble of Indian food take-out cartons in front of him. "For now. Thanks for talking me into something different."

Tim nuzzles the back of Buster's neck. "There's too much good food in this city to eat Italian every night."

Two days later, the month is over, the Giants' magic number is one and the Padres are in town for the final three games of the season.

And San Francisco is going absolutely crazy.

When Cain takes the mound on Friday night the crowd's so loud Buster can barely hear "She Thinks my Tractor's Sexy" as Cain takes his warm up pitches. More than once while Buster's on deck or in the hole, he smells the familiar harsh scent of weed, and God knows there's enough beer in the stands to fill the Cove. He's smelled dope during games before, but this particular Orange Friday is like one huge frat party. Even though the Giants lose, the crowd is with them until the last out.

The crowd's different the next day. It's a day game and there are more families and less dope, but they're just as supportive even though Zito has no idea where the ball is going. When Buster comes up for his last at bat, he feels a sense of inevitability. They're not going to win this one, he thinks and hopefully it wasn't that thought that has him fly out to cap a spectacular 0-5 afternoon.

"We couldn't," he says later that night. He and Tim are curled up on the sofa just watching the lights of the city. "Not tonight. It has to come down to tomorrow. The way this season has gone, it has to be tomorrow."

"But not Monday or Tuesday."

"No," Buster says. "In the movies, you don't win the wild card slot in a one game playoff. You win game 162 to clinch the division."

"Two out in the ninth," Tim says.

"Down by three," Buster says. "Bases loaded."

"Bell on the mound, Posey at the plate."

"Not me. Huff or Burrell."

"Posey at the plate," Tim says firmly. "It's my team and I say so."

"Count three and two," Buster says. "Though really, it should be Huffy or maybe Ross."

"Posey swings," Tim says. "He hits it high...."

He waits and nudges Buster when Buster stays silent. "He hits it deeeeep..." Buster finally says.

"It is...outta here!"

"And for the first time since 2003, the Giants are Western Division Champions!" Buster's a little embarrassed to admit that he knows that, but Tim just laughs.

"Did I go too far there?" Tim asks after a moment. "I don't want to...."

"Yeah well, if we lose tomorrow, it's not because we were joking around tonight." It's not easy to say, but if there's anything Buster's learned this month, it's that he can't influence the outcome of the season just by talking or not talking about it.

"Nervous?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

"Well that's a nice specific answer."

"We were in the stretch on our way to the College World Series in 2008 when I got the call that you'd drafted me. I was pretty nervous then," Buster says, remembering the call from his dad once he'd talked to Bobby Evans. "I was even more nervous after the call."

"Really?" Tim kisses Buster's temple. "Because of me?"

"Not you specifically, but more because I suddenly knew that tons of Giants fans would be watching us play and wondering if you'd made a gigantic, expensive, mistake."

"Any regrets?"

"Not really, although there are days when I wish I could be playing in, say, Kansas City instead of boring old San Francisco."

"Or Tampa." Tim says with a chuckle. "Pittsburgh."

"I hear Baltimore is nice this time of year."

"If you like sitting on your couch in October."

They're silent for a long time and then Buster tilts his head up to look at Tim. "You're hungry," he says. "I can tell."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Buster frowns a little, trying to describe it. "It's not...not a problem, just like a little tug in my head. Like you get when you think about something you meant to do, if that makes sense."

"Makes perfect sense," Tim says with a smile. "That's how I remember it feeling."

"So, we know where the other is; I can tell you're hungry and the last few days, I think I'm picking up on...I dunno, feelings or something."

"Oh?"

"Whatever that phone call was. You're worried about something and it's not our chances in the playoffs."

"Yes I am, but you might be picking up on any number of clues. It might not be my emotions."

"Does it matter? Because if I'm picking up subtle clues it means.... Look, it doesn't have to be some kind of extra-natural psychic connection, you know. Bum and Ali are like that sometimes too. It means that, by any standards--yours or mine--this is real. We're real."

"Yes, we are."

"No regrets?"

"That's supposed to my question." Tim says with a chuckle. "But no. I want you here, with me, for the long haul."

"Yeah?"

"Only since the first time I saw you." Tim's arms go tight around him. "Win or lose, division champs or in the cellar, slumping or on a hot streak--I want you."

"You have me," Buster says.

"Yes," Tim says, bending his head down. "I do."

When his fangs sink into Buster's neck, Buster lets it all go--the tension, the stress of a whole season vanishes. Tomorrow's game and all the games after it matter; they'll always matter. But this, what he has with Tim, matters just as much.

_end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Notes.
> 
> About Kershaw in orange and black -- Once I took Tim out of the picture, I got a little indulgent and made Kershaw a Giant because even though he's a Dodger, he seems like a genuinely nice guy. Also, he's an amazing pitcher; can you imagine having him on that 2010 roster? (Never mind that we wouldn't have drafted Bum if we had Kershaw at the time) Since I pretty much just slotted him into Tim's career, he's a about five years older in the fic than he is in real life, but fuck it, you know? I mean, there are vampires in this fic.
> 
> About the Blood Histories Universe -- This is part of a much larger AU Darkrose and I have developed. There is other fic in the series, none of the characters mentioned in those fics get a mention in this fic, so there's no need to read any of them. The Vampire Council, the German and Benjamin, the Vampire Crusade I make a vague reference to, the way the world's religions look at vampires, the fact that vampires fought for the Allies in WWII and even the astrophysicist I mentioned are all part of this huge, sprawling headcanon we've been adding to for years. So, because it's always fresh in my head, I thought it would cool if vampire Tim owned the Giants. I was already bouncing some ideas off Darkrose and had made a few notes when Cecilia Regent posted Prophyry, at which point I started writing. 
> 
> About the fic itself -- At over 60,000 words, this is one of the longest solo fics I've ever written. That wasn't my intention, but the more I wrote, the more I realized that the story I was telling was going to take time. So, for the last six months, I've been working at this on and off and it's finally--OMG finally!--finished. I gave serious thought to taking it through the post season and all the way to the parade, but then I was writing what turned out to be the last scene and suddenly, I knew had my ending. After reading it, Darkrose backed me up on the decision. Because yes, it's about Buster's rookie year, but more than that, it's about Buster coming to grips with who he is and what he wants. And honestly? If you're reading a Giants fic that's 60,000+ words, I'm kind of assuming you know how the 2010 postseason went. (hint: they won the World Series.)
> 
> About writing the 2010 Season -- One of the best things about writing this fic was reliving that 2010 season, particularly the torturous stretch. I did a ridiculous amount of research--going over the schedule, obsessing over box scores, watching game summaries on video and reading game wrap ups. I also watched and listened to some of the actual games, which was all kinds of fun. I tried to stick as close to the real games as they happened. So hopefully I got it right and the games I write about in any detail happened pretty much the way I described them. (for example: That ridiculous game in Chicago where Uribe got 2 home runs, Bum got two hits and Jose Gullien got HBP in two separate at bats _all in the same inning_ really did happen) There's one major exception--I merged Buster's incredible 4-4, 2HR (one a grand slam) game in Milwaukee with Bum's first win, which was actually the day before. Oh, also? There really was a 2008 scouting report that mentioned Buster's lower half weight-- _"Posey is a little big in the hips and will have to work hard to maintain his lower half."_ I can't make this stuff up, people.
> 
> About Darkrose -- Seriously, I can't even. From the day around seven years ago when we sat down and said "what if....? this AU has been part of our fannish lives. In addition to helping me create this world, she had a big hand in this particular story itself. She listened to me bitch about it (for the past six months!), she let me bounce ideas off her, she read it as I wrote it and gave me suggestions and helped me tighten it up. *smooshes*


End file.
